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41 









A young man sprang down upon the cinder “platform.’' 

[Page 21 ] 


Caleb of the Hill Country 

By 

Charles Allen McConnell 

n 


Publishing House of the 
Pentecostal Church of the Nazarene 
Kansas City, Missouri 
1914 




C 


Copyright, 1914, 

Publishing House of the Pentecostal 
Church of the Nazarene 


JAN -41915 

©CU393139 




DEDICATION. 


To thj: Faithful Ones — Fit Companions to the 
Martyrs of All Ages — Who, Bearing the Martyr’s 
Testimony that the Blood of Jesus Cleanseth from 
All Sin, Dared to Go Forth “Without the Camp” 
Bearing His Eeproach, These Pages Are Dedicated 
IN Loving Fellowship by 


THE AUTHOR. 







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Contents 


CHAPTER. PAGE. 

I. Old Man Mason Comes to Town 9 

II. Calel) of the Hill Country 20 

III. The First Camp of the Giants 30 

lY. A Declaration of War 40 

Y. A Sermon in Black 48 

YI. Ye Must Be Born Again 59 

YII. Lynch Him! Lynch the Nigger G8 

YIII. A Prayer Meeting Out of Order 77 

IX. He Wist Not That the Shin of His Face 

Shone 86 

X. And God Game Down Upon the Mount 95 

XI. In the Day of Miracles 104 

XII. The Storm in the Hills 114 

XIII. The Stronghold of the Anahims 124 

XIY. Perfect Love 135 

XY. A City Set Upon a Hill 146 

YIX. Light at the Grossing 155 



INTEODUCTION. 


A reviewer of the manuscript of these pages gives 
this criticism: ^‘Eeaders will put the story down as 
improbable — too strange even for fiction.” It has not 
been the purpose of the author to write history, as to 
names and places : the characters herein are composite, 
and the incidents gathered from various sources, but 
each — character and incident — has been faithfully 
drawn from life. 

In that part which deals with experience, the reader 
may confidently follow the story, being assured that 
there has been no exaggeration nor shading of the 
truth. 

It is with sorrowful heart that the portrayal is 
made of the attitude, in the time of which the story 
is written, of the churches toward the preaching and 
testimony of heart purity — entire sanctification — the 
baptism with the Holy Ghost. What is herein written 
is true; it must stand for judgment. The Christ came 
first to the house of Israel, but the chosen people cruci- 
fied the Son of God. 

With the prayer that the reader may be able to 
recognize the giants of the hill country — his own par- 


ticular Anakims — and in the power of the Holy Spirit 
put them to death, thus to be cleansed, and filled with 
perfect love, as was Caleb Wainwright, this volume is 
sent forth. 

Charles Allen McConnell. 

Kansas City^ Mo.^ Maj^, 1914. 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


CHAPTEK I 

OLD MAN MASON COMES TO TOWN 

Through the open windows of the printing office 
came the creaking and chuck-cluck of a canvas- 
covered wagon, as it plowed deeply through the red 
sand of the street, approaching the General Dry Goods 
and Groceries Store of Rube Dorman, where the 
weekly addition to an account for bacon and coffee and 
tobacco would be made, to be paid for with the scant 
cotton crop in the fall. 

In front of the one row of unpainted, wooden box- 
houses, which comprised the business district of the 
town, men tilted back upon rawhide-bottomed chairs, 
shaded from the too ardent rays of the March sun, 
‘‘resting,” as they smoked and spat, and discussed the 
price and prospect of the cotton crop. 

The ring of iron upon iron, which had made music 
in Milton Wade’s blacksmith shop since the first streak 
of dawn, had ceased. The last “Georgia-stock” plow 
had been pointed, and now, in the place smoothed oft' 
before the shop, the blacksmith and three or four other 
men were busily engaged in a game of marbles. 

From the Farmers’ Exchange Saloon, the most 
pretentious building of the row, came the click of 
0 


10 


Caleb of tue Hill Countby 


dominoes, and an occasional oath, as some player 
cursed his luck. This place of business, by the way, 
had rank in importance with the big store, being a two- 
story edifice, with the lodge room overhead. The pro- 
prietor of the place was one of the most jovial of men, 
a “good fellow,” a liberal supporter of the Baptist 
church, a singer in the choir, and one whose name was 
never absent from a subscription list for “charity.” At 
this time of year, Bud Slavin, the proprietor of the 
Farmers’ Exchange Saloon, and Rube Dorman, the 
merchant, were good friends; and their rivalry, each 
to be the rich man of the community, was good-natured. 
But later, in the fall, when a farmer’s bale of cotton 
could by no means be made to cover the merchant’s 
bacon and tobacco account and the padded liquor bill, 
there would be strife and bad words and threatened 
blows, and visits to the Squire’s office — for all of which 
the f armer paid. 

At the end of the street, close up against and in the 
shade of the Methodist church, seemingly meditating 
upon the possibility of reaching the cooler situation of 
the hogs who were contentedly grunting beneath the 
sagging-roofed, bulged-sided building, were a half 
dozen cows, so lean that they might have been the 
originals of Pharaoh’s dream of famine. 

In the yards of the homes, ranging on either side 
of the street, the peach trees were a billowy mass of 
pink-and-white bloom, glorifying the mean and the 
commonplace with the crown of spring. 


Old Man Mason Comes to Town 


11 


All this met the eye and ear and thought of Caleb 
AYainwright, editor and proprietor of the ('vocJcett City 
Enterprise^ as he sat with elbows upon the ink-spattered 
table, chin in his hands. The measured click-click of 
type in the stick of the one compositor at the case in 
the rear of the office mingled with the “Sweet, sweet ! 
see her, see her!” of a redbird, and a jumble of liquid 
sounds from the mockingbird in the postoak at the 
window. Caleb looked, but dreamed; and sordidness 
and squalor had no place in the vision. 

Suddenly he sprang to his feet. Far down the 
street there was approaching a cloud of dust. A faint 
echo of a pistol shot — again and again. Nearer, a 
man on horseback appeared, riding wildly. Nearer 
still, and yells and a torrent of horrid profanity came 
rolling in. The domino players crowded from the 
saloon door; the few traders left their bargaining in 
the store; the men in front of the blacksmith shop 
leaped up from taw and alley; a white-faced woman, 
her black calico sunbonnet hanging down her back, 
stood for a moment shaking like a leaf, and then sank 
down at the side of the street unable to move; some 
school children scuttled out of harm’s way between two 
buildings. Old Man Mason had come to town. 

Old Man Mason was known as the “bad man” of 
the settlement. With grizzled beard, unkempt hair, a 
face seamed and wrinkled, with bloodshot eyes, he 
was the picture of a life that had gone wrong — had 
missed its mark. Eoughness of person, manner or 
speech would excite neither comment or notice in 


12 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


the frontier settlements of the southwest. The country 
was new and rough, and the niceties of civilization 
had laid small demands, as yet, upon the dwellers of 
these hills. Some, indeed, among them had drifted in 
from distant centers of civilization, but as man ever 
finds it easier to sink to a level than to raise others, 
they had not been long in taking their places among the 
hill dwellers as to the manner born. 

But Old Man Mason compelled attention whenever 
the impulse led him from his near-by ranch to the 
little town. His was not the windy courage of the cow- 
boy of the story- writers — a type seldom if ever seen — 
rather, he seemed, when liquor was in, to be possessed 
by seven devils, each one more hatefully wicked than 
the other. Although already well along in years, his 
lean, wiry body was as tough as seasoned postoak, and 
his vociferous complaint was that the times had de- 
generated and no men were left to fight. Occasionally 
the old man would be accommodated in his desire — 
after which, when he had sobered up, he would present 
himself early in the morning of the next day to the 
’Squire, ask permission to plead guilty to an affray, 
and pay his fine. 

The appearance of the old man upon the street 
would always be the signal for women and children 
and peaceably disposed citizens to retire from sight, 
and if possible from hearing, as the profanity of the 
drink-crazed man was more than even the common 
sinner could endure. The story is yet told to the 
second generation of Crockett City, of the time when 


Old Man Mason Comes to Town 


13 


a Deputy Sheriff from the coimtyseat in the valley 
happened into town at the time of one of Old Man 
Mason’s visits. The latter had not as yet reached the 
fighting stage, but, hilarious over his winnings at the 
card table in the rear of the Farmers’ Exchange, was 
walking up and down the middle of the street, ex- 
pressing his views upon affairs earthly and heavenly, 
paying particular attention to peace officers and preach- 
ers. As the imprecations and blasphemies rolled out 
and over town, the Deputy stood in open-mouthed 
wonder. 

“What is it? MHio is he? ^Vhy isn’t he pulled?” 
demanded he. 

“Why, that’s Old Man Mason come to town. He’s 
just got started. Wait till he gets full, and you’ll see 
fun.” 

The Deputy marched down the street and took his 
position in front of the torrent of profanity. The old 
man paused, looked the officer over from head to pistol 
belt, and with a scurrilous epithet demanded, “What 
do you want?” 

“I want you,” replied the Deputy, his hand rest- 
ing on the holster. 

“What’s the matter with you?” asked the old man 
in evident astonishment. “I ain’t tanked up yet, and I 
ain’t hit a man in a week. When I do, I know where to 
pay the fine without any fool Deputy showing me.” 

“I want you for using profane language in a public 
place. Come along.” 


14 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


The old man went with the officer as one who 
walks in a dream — What was the country coming to, 
that a man’s liberty was to be interfered with in this 
way ? 

Of course a crowd followed to the justice’s office, 
where ’Squire Belton opened court ; but foremost, keep- 
ing close to the officer and prisoner, were those whom 
the proprietor of the Farmer’s Exchange had quickly 
gathered. No trial in that court ever went against 
the wish of Bud Slavin. 

The complaint filed, the old man appearing in his 
own behalf, demanded an immediate trial, and asked 
for a jury. The ’Squire appointed a bystander to rep- 
resent the State, and quickly the crowd from the saloon 
was impanelled, and then the testimony of the officer 
was given. It was that the prisoner had been parading 
the public streets like a madman, evidently in a state 
of insane rage, cursing in a manner calculated to dis- 
turb the peace and dignity of the community. The 
old man insisted that the officer repeat the objectionable 
sentences he had heard, much to the amusement of the 
bystanders and even the jury. Then, arising and ad- 
dressing the court he declared that he had had, that 
morning, a call from the Lord to preach, and had been 
obeying the divine command in uncovering the sins of 
the preachers and peace officers, when the Deputy had 
interfered with the sermon and broken up the meet- 
ing. 

The jury retired, and at once returned with a ver- 
dict of “not guilty.” The old man turned to the 


Old Man Mason Comes to Town 


15 


Deputy saying, “Now, young fellow, you didn’t have 
anything against me when you came, but if you’ll lay 
that gun off, you’ll have something to take away.” 

That was Old Man Mason. But drunkard and 
gambler and blasphemer that he was, he was a hard 
worker, between his sprees, honest in his business re- 
lations, and had carved himself out a beautiful farm in 
a valley between the hills. To the south where his 
fields widened out into the broad Pecan Valley, his 
farm was joined by the ranch of Bud Slavin, propri- 
etor of the Farmers’ Exchange Saloon. 

As Old Man Mason had neither kith nor kin, so 
far as was known, it was a matter of neighborhood 
speculation who would get his rich little farm when his 
life should come to its prophesied sudden termination. 
It was to settle this question that the evil spirit had 
whispered a plan into the willing ear of Bud Slavin, 
and with devilish ingenuity he proceeded to carry it 
out. 

Naboth’s vineyard was no more desirable to King 
Ahab than were the fertile fields of Old Man Mason 
to the saloon keeper. Aside from its productiveness 
and its advantageous position, it possessed for Bud the 
seeming requisite of perfection to his own ranch; for 
out of the hills which bordered the little valley farm, 
there gushed a great, ever-living spring, which took 
its way across the rich fields, down into the broad val- 
ley, where it emptied into Big Sandy. 

In the southwest, where stockraising is an impor- 
tant industry, the possession of an unfailing supply of 


16 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


good water is an asset of great importance. While Old 
Man Mason grew cotton and corn, Bud Slavin raised 
cattle. And while the water of Big Sandy might, and 
frequently did, dry up during the long, hot sun oners, 
and the waters from the little hill stream fail before 
traversing the valley, at the spring itself there was al- 
ways an abundance of water for all the cattle the big 
ranch would sustain. Again and again Slavin had 
endeavored to buy this farm from the old man, but, 
with what seemed an unreasoning stubbornness Mason 
declared that his own hands had made the place what it 
was, and that no one save himself, as long as he lived, 
should have the good of it. 

There had been a time within that generation, in 
the great southwest, when the refusal of a “nester” to 
dispose of his homestead to the cattle king, would 
yield as fatal result as that which came to the owner 
of the vineyard of Jezreel. On a prominent corner 
of a little city of rapidly growing commercial im- 
portance, there stands a stately stone church, beau- 
tiful as to architecture, elegant as to furnishing. No 
demand is made upon the Avorshipers for the care of 
the house, or for the expense of pastor, solo singer or 
organist, for this is the John Lord Memorial, and 
house and service are sacred to the memory of the 
great cattle king. Should you have visited the place, 
and won the confidence of one of the older generation 
who had known the great man in life, you might have 
heard a strange story — how it came that the ranch of 
John Lord grew to embrace a domain not to be meas- 





[Page 11] 


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Old Man Mason Comes to Town 


17 


ured by acres, but by square miles. It would be re- 
called that obstreperous owners of homesteads would 
suddenly disappear — “skip the country,” Lord’s men 
would give out; that others, invited to the great man’s 
headquarters, and having transferred their holdings 
to him for a goodly sum, paid in check, would be found 
next morning dead by the trail, never having reached 
home that night, and, it was added, never was there 
found one of the checks upon the dead man, for their 
heirs to present for payment. 

But conditions were changing in the southwest: 
the small farmer Avas coming into his own, and the 
ranchman no longer could, unquestioned, rob and mur- 
der. Then, too. Bud Slavin had not yet reached the 
place of wealth and power he had set for himself, and 
if Naboth was to be removed, it was best to be done 
within the law. 

“Say, old man,” remarked Bud genially, to Mason 
one day, “you’re the toughest old nut I ever saw. You 
can work all day, drink all night and fight all next 
day. You must come of a family that lives forever.” 

“Well, I reckon about like that,” responded the old 
man. My father back in east Tennessee, lived to be 
ninety year old, and his father was killed after eighty- 
five.” 

“Ha ! ha !” laughed the saloon keeper. “We’ll have 
to listen to your street preaching for quite a spell yet, I 
see. But look here, old man, you’ll have to die some 
time — we all got to cash in, you knoAV. Noav you’re a 
game sport, and I want to gamble a little Avith you. 


18 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


You can’t take that place with you where you’re going 
— that old rocky point ivould melt sure enough down 
there. Now I’ll tell you what I’ll do: I’ll give you 
$200 a year and all the red liquor you can drink, and 
the rent of the place free as long as you live, if you’ll 
fix up the papers that I’m to have the farm when you 
die.” 

The old man cast his eyes over the increasingly 
bloated form of his neighbor, and made some conclu- 
sions of his own ; his eyes gleamed. “It’s a gamble. I 
take you. But you’ll put in it that if you fail up any 
year with the money or the liquor, the contract’s 
broken.” 

And this way the contract had stood for three years 
previous to the opening of our story. On the one hand, 
the saloon man, with all the infernal wiles of the 
devil, and with the assistance of the crowd which he 
kept about him, set to his purpose to “make Old Man 
Mason drink himself to death, or get killed in one of 
his own rows.” On the other hand the old man banked 
confidently upon the vitality inherited from his clean- 
living ancestors, and upon the growing attachment of 
the saloon keeper to his own wares. 

The contest between the two, life for life, became a 
subject for community discussion, so that sides were 
taken, and partisanship for one or the other openly de- 
clared. Thus, when, one Sunday morning, the old man 
came in sober for his weekly mail, a rock thrown 
from behind a corner of a building, crushed a hole 
in the back of the old man’s skull, there were not lack- 


Old Man Mason Comes to Town 


19 


ing those who declared that Bud Slavin was beginning 
to lose faith in the strength of his liquor. 

But the old man got well, and his two months of 
enforced abstinence seemed to neither improve his tem- 
per nor destroy his thirst. Again and again, yells, pistol 
shots and flood of profanity would bring the inhabi- 
tants of Crockett City to doors and windows to see 
people scurrying from the street — for Old Man Mason 
was coming to town. 


CHAPTEK II 


CALEB OF THE HILL COUNTRY 

Since men began to put into words the overflowing 
emotions of their soul, has there been sung the beauty 
of the hills. Commerce may thrive upon the plain, 
and all the works of man gather to their boasting, but 
it is in the hills that God shows His handiwork. “I 
will lift up mine eyes unto the hills,” sang the great- 
est of poets, as he gave the subject and the source of 
his inspiration. 

God moves in the strife and clamor of the busy 
marts of the- plains, but in the hills there are solitudes 
— and God whispers to men His secrets in the places 
of silence. In the lands below, man’s eyes are turned 
earthward, for there is gain to be found, and man- 
made traps to be avoided ; in the hills, the whole heaven 
proffers itself for man’s pathway, and the untrammeled 
spirit leaps out into the infinite. The lowlands are 
the place of smoke and fog and noisome vapor-, there 
the darkness begins first to creep, and clings the long- 
est. The hills lift themselves into the atmosphere of 
heaven; first to them rosy morn flings the signal of 
her coming, and day departing leaves her lingering 
good-night there. 


20 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


21 


Ah ! the hills are God’s earth-picture of the New 
J erusalem, where vision is piled on vision ; where glory 
is dissolved into glory; where time, with its rush and 
fret and sin, falls away, and nature rests in the holiness 
and peace and joy of God. 

“We came unto the land whither thou sentest us, 
and surely it floweth with milk and honey * * never- 
theless the people be strong that dwell in the land * * 
and moreover we saw the children of Anak there. * * 
And Caleb said, Let us go up at once and possess it.” 

With a grinding of wheels and a chug, the Over- 
land Express came to a stop at the small red station, 
and a young man sprang down upon the cinder ‘‘plat- 
form.” He was tall and loose- jointed, and might eas- 
ily have given the impression of uncouthness, but for a 
certain air of directness and decision that marked his 
movements. The face under the soft, broadbrim hat, 
showed blue-grey eyes that held yours with a steady 
grip; a forehead high, ending in a straight line of 
black hair; prominent cheek bones; nose large; and 
chin round, but full and strong. The mouth, rather 
than the eyes of the young man, gave the index to the 
soul. While not drooping, nor despondent, in repose 
it spoke a spirit of sadness; while in animation it car- 
ried a smile of sweetness, and was never far from the 
quirk of humor. 

Caleb Wainwright was a son of the hill country, 
and today, after an absence of fifteen years, had re- 
turned to his own. In a little mud-and-moss chinked 
log cabin of “two pens and a passage,” on the great 


22 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


slope of the hill west of the settlement, he had opened 
his eyes upon a life that promised little for him save 
mother-love. The father, when the lad was nine years 
of age, had fallen by the bullet of some hunter — or 
assassin — and to the mother and boy came the burden 
of support of the family. 

Never had the proceeds of the small patch of hill- 
side cotton sufficed for even the meager necessities of 
that cabin home, and year after year had seen a carried- 
over account, at last to be made secure to Rube Dorman 
by a mortgage on the “farm.” Faithfully the mother 
and the boy, and even the smaller little ones, plowed 
and planted and “chopped” and hoed the scanty crop. 
But drouth succeeded washing rains, and the harvest 
on Dorman’s scales showed again a deficit for the store 
account and nothing for the mortgage. 

When the sheriff came to take possession of the 
farm for the storekeeper, he found a group of crying 
children huddled about a mean bed, upon which lay 
an unresponding, unheeding form. The family was 
broken up and the children scattered, never to meet 
again in this world. 

Caleb found a home with a cousin of his mother, 
back in an eastern city, where he grew to manhood. 
By this kinsman he was given the foundation of a 
good education in the city schools, was trained to the 
trade of a printer, but best of all, was led into a life 
of love and service as it is in Christ Jesus. 

The poignant experiences of childhood etch deeply 
the tablets of memory. The sufferings — the wrongs. 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


23 


the indignities, the injustice borne in early years, leave 
their mark forever upon the soul of the man. It is out 
of this fierce crucible of bitterness that come the anar- 
chist, the highwayman, the Ishmael of society whose 
hand is against every man. 

But not to all is this dire heritage; when the touch 
of the Nazarene falls upon these throbbing scars of boy- 
hood days, their fever is allayed; peace is succeeded 
by pity, and compassion by a mighty impulse for serv- 
ice for the unfortunate, the suffering, the defrauded 
ones of earth. 

So, to Caleb Wainwuught, there came to remain not 
the spirit of revenge, but a purpose that in God’s time 
he would give his life to lead his own people into the 
rightful inheritance of the hill country. He would 
confront the Anakims of poverty, ignorance, moral 
laxness, and spiritual deadness, and tear down their 
cities walled high with indifference and hopelessness. 
He wmuld behead the cruel triumvirate of Debt, Drink, 
and Dirt, and men should again lift their shoulders, 
and walk like men with their eyes upon the stars of 
heaven, and from the hillsides should arise the shouts 
of praise for victory, unto the God of the goodly land. 

Full of his purpose, Caleb made thorough study of 
economics as related to country life. He studied the 
subjects of soils and climates, as well as transporta- 
tion and marketing — biding his time when his Joshua 
should open the way into the hill country. This op- 
portunity came, when, shortly before his twenty-fifth 
birthday, he found himself, upon the death of his 


24 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


kinsman, the recipient of a bequest of three thousand 
dollars. 

It was the work of but a few days to purchase and 
ship to his old home in Crockett City the material for 
a small, country office. The young man reasoned that 
he could best bring about the success of his plans 
through the instruction he could give and the enthusi- 
asm he might be able to create with a weekly paper. 

While Caleb, with the optimism of youth, was 
sanguine of success, he was not unmindful of the mag- 
nitude of his mission. He was not disappointed when 
the curiosity which attaches itself to the something 
new under the sun, having helped to launch his enter- 
prise, gradually ebbed, and left him to battle with few 
followers at the foot of the high wall of indifference. 
He had rightly read history: that the path of the re- 
former is a lonely one, and that while the face of the 
prophet, as he advances before his followers, is lit with 
the glory of God, the back which he shows to those 
behind is often accounted the back of a fool. 

He came to his task buoyed with a heartening love 
for people, and an unwavering faith in God and the 
right. He knew that his gospel must be line upon line, 
IDrecept upon precept, here a little and there a little, 
until at last the awakening should come and men 
would see and believe and enter into the better life 
which lay ready to their possession. God was for 
him; he would show his people by true word and lov- 
ing deed the way of that better life. He who had 
fashioned the beauty of these hills for the delight of 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


25 


man would reveal to him the pathway through which 
he would lead them out of the Egypt of their pov- 
erty. He could work and wait; what if his printing 
office should fail to yield him a support ; success would 
come to him as it would come to his people; and for- 
tunately, a third of his little fortune was as yet un- 
touched. 

It may have been in accord with and a part of his 
plan, or it may have been mere sentiment that led 
Caleb Wainwright to seek to become the possessor of 
the gently-sloping hillside of his old home. And 
what if mere sentiment? What stronger or worthier 
impulse can prompt to action than that which we 
lightly speak of as sentiment? But aside from the 
sentiment of filial remembrance, there was the purpose 
which burned in the heart of the young man to go back 
to the beginning — to start where poverty and failure 
had scored their victory, and prove that the God of 
the hills was a God of plenteousness and peace. Upon 
what better spot could his hands lay the foundation 
for deliverance than where defeat had claimed the 
field? 

The farm, during the years, had passed through the 
possession of several owners, but by the way of store 
accounts and mortgage had again come into the hands 
of Rube Dorman, the merchant. Upon Caleb’s return 
to his native place, he had, after a few weeks, been 
made welcome by the great man, for it was Dorman’s 
business to know the financial standing of every man in 
the community; and for a young man, Caleb would, in 


26 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


that section, be considered well-to-do. So, when he 
broached the subject of the purchase of the old place 
to the merchant, Eube genially responded. 

‘‘Sure, you can buy it. I’ll sell it to you cheap. But 
what do you want with that old hillside? It won’t 
grow cotton. I’ve had a dozen men starve out on it. 
I can show you a valley place down on Brushy, if you 
want to farm, that’s sure enough land.” 

But it was not to be a partaker of the richness of 
the lowlands, that Caleb had been sent ; rather to bring 
richness to the lives of those who dwelt in the hill 
country. 

The deed was made, and Caleb, one day in the 
early fall, came into his allotment in the land which 
had been promised. Upon a sightly spot, in a little 
grove of broad-spreading oaks, he built a neat, though 
small house, and when he was able occasionally to hire 
a neighbor with his team, began to prepare the hill- 
side for an experiment, the success of which he be- 
lieved would open the way out of the debt-slavery of 
the people. 

When he arrived at Crockett City, he had found no 
school worthy of the name. The building honored 
with the name of schoolhouse had been a storeroom 
for tools of the railroad gangs, when, for a time, 
Crockett City had been the terminus of the line. Now, 
toppling to one side, like a drunken man, it was like- 
wise as filthy. Obscene pictures were chalked upon the 
outside walls and cut into the rude seats within; mud 
was tracked in upon the unswept floors until it began 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


27 


to be tracked out again. The three, or at the longest, 
four months of school for which the state paid (for 
that the people should tax themselves for the education 
of their children was a thing not to be allowed), did 
not tend to attract teachers of ability or character. 
The soul of Caleb had sickened as he looked upon the 
place, and he cried within himself, “Surely this is 
the very citadel of the Anak of Ignorance.” 

Back to the eastern city had gone a letter to George 
Farris, a young teacher who had been his friend, por- 
traying the beauty of the hill country, but also, in 
terms that gripped the young teacher's heart, was 
shown the bitter lives of bondage of the people to the 
giants of the hills. The letter closed with this appeal : 

'‘‘George^ God has called me to the battle 
here — it is a goodly land^ and the inheiitaruie is 
rich. Will you not come and stand by my side 
to deliver this yeoplef The battle will be strong 
and may be long ; but if God be with us, %oe shall 
drive out the Anakims. ‘One shall chase a thou- 
sand, and two shall fut ten thousand to fight I 
I am convinced that the two will be needed^ 

The answer came in the person of the young teach- 
er. During that summer enough of lukewarm interest 
was aroused to erect and modestly equip a building to 
which addition could be made as needs grew, and 
which, to the wonder of all and amusement of many, 
was neatly painted outside and in. 


28 


Caleb of the Hill Countby 


On the first day of November the new teacher and 
the new schoolhouse attracted a dozen of the children 
of the more prosperous of the inhabitants, and the door 
of a new life was opened to some of them. Later, after 
Christmas, others dropped in for their two months of 
books. 

George Farris, while not a professed Christian, 
had the instincts of a true teacher, and was able to 
generate within his pupils the germs of his own high 
ideals. After all, reforms to take lasting root must be 
planted in the warm, fertile soil of childhood. The 
home, the church, the state that neglects childhood, de- 
feats the purpose of its OAvn existence. The elders may 
endure, but youth makes the advance. 

The neat and scrupulously kept schoolroom was 
not long in proving the moral effect of environment. 
Tidiness in dress, and civility in manners began to 
take the place of slovenliness and boorishness. From 
that schoolhouse as a center, influences reached out 
into homes with transforming power. 

There were not lacking critics of the “new-fangled” 
ways, but the outspoken support of Rube Dorman, 
and the delight of Bud Slavin in the progress of his 
two little girls — idols of the father’s heart — settled the 
matter of the permanency of the school. 

The heart of Caleb was full of rejoicing — ^already 
he foresaw the overthrow of the giant Ignorance. And, 
as for the giant Debt — that, too, Avould go, if the 
hillside plan proved true. 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


29 


The fall of the first year of Caleb’s return, the 
Conference sent as pastor of the Methodist Church, 
Wallace Miller, an elderly man, gentle and kindly of 
nature, who, though of more than ordinary education 
and ability, had been kept upon the less desirable 
charges, because of a suspicion that he favored a doc- 
trine called the “second blessing.” To “Brother” Mil- 
ler, Caleb Wainwright felt at once a strange drawing 
in sympathy and love. Each carried in his heart a 
purpose to be used in the uplift of his fellows; each 
hated impurity and debauchery and meanness; each 
had faith in a loving, powerful Savior ready to de- 
liver; and each was a passionate lover of childhood. 

So it was natural that Caleb Wainwright should 
find himself, that first winter, the pastor’s right hand 
man, the superintendent of the Sunday school, and 
natural that he should find in his pastor a source of 
courage and strength for his life work. 

There was another event which came into the life 
of Caleb, an event which, natural indeed since the 
days of Eden, has been ever new, and ever invested 
with all the fresh glory of creation. For it was that 
when again the peach trees were all abloom, pretty, 
fair-haired Nellie Dorman became the mistress of the 
little home in the grove on the hillside. 


CHAPTER III 


THE FIRST CAMP OF THE GIANTS 

It is not strange that, as deliverer of the dwellers 
of the hill country, God should have chosen one of 
themselves. The heart of Moses was touched with the 
sorrows of his brethren, and he put aside the scepter 
for the shepherd’s crook. When a nation must arise 
and break from its wrists the shackles of slavery, it 
was Lincoln, one of the “poor whites” of the South, 
(a people upon whom above all others the curse of 
black slavery fell) whose toil-marked hand struck the 
delivering blow. And thus, when a Savior was prom- 
ised who should be a Redeemer of the world from sin. 
He was to come as one “like unto his brethren.” Who 
but one who has suffered at all points as they can 
understand ? and who but such an one can win the con- 
fidence of those whom he would succor? 

The heart of Caleb Wainwright was with his peo- 
ple, even as was the heart of Moses with Israel when 
he pleaded with Jehovah that he himself might be 
destroyed, if thereby his people should be saved. 
Nothing short of such self-immolation qualifies one for 
the leadership that compels the backing of the Al- 
might}^ 


30 


The First Camp of the Giants ‘>1 

Not only does God choose the man, but even the 
instrument whereby deliverance is to be wrought; and 
that instrument is likely to be some common thing 
connected with everyday life — or something close at 
hand. To Moses, Jehovah said, ^‘What is that in 
thine hand?” and a shepherd’s crook became the won- 
der-working wand before Pharaoh, and the rod of de- 
liverance at the Red Sea. The rams’ horns at Jericho, 
the breaking lamps of Gideon, the jawbone in the 
hand of Samson, Shamgar’s goard, were common 
things — but when God calls attention of a man to a 
common thing, it is that He has hitched the common 
to the Infinite. 

It was in some such way that Caleb found to his 
hand that which he could use to deliver his people from 
the giants Debt and Poverty, and this was the manner 
of its revealing : 

The afternoon sun had beaten down piteously upon 
the shingled roof of the printing office, that August 
day, as Caleb and his one printer worked off the weekly 
edition of the Crockett City Enterprise — bare-armed, 
faces red and steaming. A stare from the printer, who 
held the big ink roller suspended above the forms on 
the bed of the press, caused Caleb to turn his gaze to- 
ward the front door. There stood a vision of loveli- 
ness, an angel of mercy, or messenger of deliverance, 
as one had eyes to see. Blushing rosily, Nellie Dorman, 
attired in fluffy white, came forward a little way, and 
then stopped as she noticed the disarray of the men, 
and with downcast eyes, said, “Mamma ’lowed that you 


32 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


all would be mighty warm this evening, working that 
machine, and she sent you over a pitcher of milk, and a 
few of our Indian peaches. They’re mighty fine just 
now.” 

Cool buttermilk and full-ripe peaches ! Nectar and 
ambrosia were never more tempting to the dwellers 
on Olympus. With a hasty toilet, the men seated 
themselves to their enjoyment, but only by their re- 
fusal to begin until she was seated at the paper-strewn 
editorial table with them, was Nellie induced to remain 
and witness their enjoyment of her kindness. 

“What did you call these peaches, Miss Nellie?” 
asked Caleb. “I do not seem to remember them. I 
have never tasted their equal.” 

“We call them the ‘Indian peach,’ ” replied Nellie, 
“but most of the folks about here call them the ‘Dor- 
man peach.’ Papa says a Cherokee Indian gave a 
peach seed to his Grandfather Dorman back in Geor- 
gia, and they planted it, and raised these peaches there. 
Then when we came west, papa brought some of the 
seed along with him.” 

“It is certainly a magnificent peach,” said Caleb, 
as he opened his third one with thumb and finger. The 
pit fell out clean from its bed of scarlet, back of which 
lay a thick, solid “meat” of gold, encased in a strong 
skin of creamy yellow, streaked with rose. “What a 
delicate flavor,” mused Caleb. “And you say that it 
comes true to seed? That is most unusual in a stone 
fruit.” 



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The First Camp of the Giants 33 

“Oh, yes,” answered Nellie, “it always brings 
peaches just like that, right from the seed. Papa gave 
some of his first seed to the Bankses and the Offuts, 
who came out with us, and their peaches are just the 
same as ours.” 

After warmly thanking the young lady, and send- 
ing their acknowledgments to Mrs. Dorman for their 
treat, the men turned again to their task; but Caleb’s 
eyes had been opened, and he knew that in his hand 
had been placed the “rod” which should work his 
miracles — the Dorman 'peach. 

Such a peach in the markets of the North, would 
bring fancy prices. To create the demand, to supply 
and hold the market, and to secure to the growers their 
rightful share of the proceeds, was the problem that 
Caleb saw laid before him. To this solution his studies 
in economics, of soils, climate, transportation and mar- 
keting, now would prove most valuable. He qidckly 
saw that the iron-impregnated clay subsoil of the hills, 
overlaid as it was with a rich sandy topsoil, was ideal 
for fruit culture, and soil and climate combined to pro- 
duce a peach, the like of which he had never seen. The 
country would produce the crop. As to the supply, so 
far as Nellie had been able to tell, there were but three 
farms upon which this peach grew, and at most their 
supply would not be more than a few hundred bushels 
— the market would call for carloads. Pie must induce 
the people to set out commercial orchards. It would 
take time, but through the rare peculiarity of this 
peach reproducing its characteristics through the seed. 


;34 


Caleb oe the Hill Country 


the slower process of grafting could be dispensed with, 
a year gained, and fruit obtained the third year from 
the planting. 

Already Caleb could see the liberation of his people 
from their bondage of cotton, poverty and debt. When 
the Dorman peach should have been introduced into 
market (for he had already decided that Nellie’s name 
should be given to the beautiful fruit) he would hold 
the market by close selection and careful packing. 
For the lower grades he would have the cannery and 
the evaporator. He himself would set out the first ex- 
perimental orchard, and prove to the people the pos- 
sibilities of these hills. 

At the Banks place a half dozen broken and scrag- 
gly trees, stubbornly holding to life in spite of ruthless 
attacks of long-horned cattle, represented the Indian 
peach orchard. Not much of j^romise there. “No,” 
said Old Man Banks, “I never did try to sell any of 
them air peaches, ’cept once; Bud Slavin gin me six 
bits fer a load the chaps picked up under the trees 
after a storm. Hit don’t pay ter raise fruit in this 
yere country.” 

At the Offut’s Caleb found more encouragement. 
Jed Offut, a thrifty farmer, had protected his trees 
from the ravages of the stock, and by judiciously trim- 
ming had kept them thrifty, until now, in their tenth 
year, they were like goodly forest trees. “La, yes; 
bear!” laughed Mrs. Offut, “I reckon they do. We 
can and dry enough for a half dozen families every 


The First Camp of the Giants 


35 


year, and then turn in the hogs to help care for the 
fruit.” 

Before Caleb left these good people he had con- 
tracted for their entire next year’s crop, and had 
bought a wagon-load of the seed, left from this year’s 
canning and drying. This, then, was the plan which, 
filling the heart of Caleb Wainwright, caused him to 
purchase the gently -sloping hillside of his old home- 
stead — an ideal place for fruit-culture, though of 
proven failure for cotton raising. There would be 
planted in the prepared land the wagon load of seeds 
of the Dorman peach, which one day should make these 
hills famous, and bring prosperity and happiness to the 
hill dwellers. 

With tact and wisdom Caleb wrote larticles in his 
paper to lead the people to the idea of breaking away, 
from the ruinous habits of generations — the habit of 
debt, and of discouragement — and to show them that 
there was really another way possible, and a way in- 
finitely better for them than they had known. He 
showed them by figures how, by joining together as a 
community, they could grow and ship fruits and vege- 
tables to the northern markets by carload lots, and get 
good returns, and that by caring for much that was 
now going to waste in garden and orchard, there was 
a source of wealth at their hand. 

In the spring a few — not over half a dozen — of the 
farmers joined Caleb in the experiment of planting 
the Dorman peaches for market. Neither individuals 


36 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


nor communities are to be persuaded easily that la new 
way is a better way. 

Twenty acres of Caleb’s farm was planted with the 
peach seed. Some day he would prove to his people 
beyond question^ the golden possibilities that lay in 
these hills. But he must not wait until the orchards 
came into full bearing before he should be able to help 
them. Carefully he put before a canning factory in 
the eastern city, the facts he had gathered, as to soil, 
climate, shipping facilities, the abundance of cheap la- 
bor during the summer months, and, as a final “straw” 
to break the camel’s back of hesitancy, dilated upon 
his find in the Dorman peach, and the start that had 
been made toward commercial orchards. The result 
wias a visit from the manager, and a contract for the 
erection of a small cannery, to be started up as soon as 
vegetables could be grown. Tomato seeds, as well as 
beans, sweet corn and other vegetables, were distrib- 
uted among such farmers as could be induced to sign 
the contract with the proposed cannery. 

In their avidous search for the new, a metropolitan 
journal, coming upon a copy of the little Crockett City 
paper, sent a representative to the hill country to spy 
out the land. The world read the glowing descriptions 
of the land, laughed at the people, sneered at the 
Quixotic country editor — and asked its grocer for the 
Dorman peach. Inquiries came to Caleb by the score; 
prospectors appeared, and before the first shipment 
from the canning factory reached market, new brick 


The First Camp of the Giants 


37 


business houses were being erected in Crockett City. 
The sun was rising upon the hills. 

Of the fruit he had received from the Offut place, 
and that which Eube Dorman had donated “for the 
good of the cause,” Caleb made three grades — the 
first, each peach carefully wrapped in tissue paper, to 
be shipped to the markets of the North; the second 
grade to be canned ; the third to be peeled and dried in 
sugar. 

The reception of the fruit upon the market was all 
that Caleb had hoped, and his published account cre- 
ated a strong sentiment among the farmers to “give 
the thing a try-out.” Nothing in this world is so 
successful as success. 

The first wall of the giants — the ramparts of in- 
difference — had been scaled; the people were aroused 
from their stagnation, but the giants were not yet 
slain. 

With many of the ignorant people, “peaches were 
peaches,” and as the news of the prices Caleb had re- 
ceived for the Dorman peaches reached the backwoods, 
there came pouring into town wagon-load after wagon- 
load of seedlings, hard and green, over-ripe and mushy, 
speckled and knotty — but all feaclies — each would-be 
seller clamoring for the two dollars per bushel which 
the paper said Caleb had received for his selected fruit. 
His refusal to buy the unmarketable stuff turned upon 
him such a flood of indignation that explanations were 
out of order at that time. 


38 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


“Never mind, boys,” said Bud Slavin, “I’ll take 
your peaches, if they’re not high-toned enough for 
Wainwright. We got along mighty well before he 
came back to these hills, and I reckon we can run a 
while longer. I can use ’em out on my ranch for the 
hogs.” 

The peaches were unloaded at Bud’s ranch, and the 
farmers took home filled jugs in payment; but Caleb 
strongly suspected that it would be a brandy still to 
which the peaches would be fed, before the hogs would 
come in for their share. 

Again, with a clear sight, Caleb saw the saloon 
standing in the way with its murderous club to beat 
back the people from their inheritance. In this light 
came the forming of a purpose through an incident 
which occurred during the canning season. 

Old Man Banks had scorned the contracts of the 
canning factory, but his wife, ambitious for the two 
boys, had finally secured his consent that they should 
take seed and raise tomatoes. Then, after the fall 
plowing was finished, the boys were to be allowed the 
proceeds of their venture for clothes, and given per- 
mission to attend the new school in town during the 
winter. 

It was a great day for the boys, when, at the close 
of the season, they rode into town with their father, 
the shackly wagon carrying their last load to the can- 
nery. The forty dollars they had so bravely earned 
would be a mine of untold wealth, not only for their 


The First Camp of the Giants 


31 ) 


own, but for the long-unknown necessary clothing for 
mother. 

Before starting for home, the old man must make 
his accustomed visit to the Farmers’ Exchange — fate- 
ful word — ^and the two boys came into the printing 
office bursting with the good news of their summer’s 
success, and hopes for the coming winter. 

Caleb had one characteristic of his Master — he 
loved children; and it was a hint of the innate great- 
ness of his soul that children instinctively loved him. 
Leaving his work, he welcomed his young guests, re- 
joicing with them, and giving direction to and 
strengthening their purposes. 

The shadows were creeping up the hillsides from 
the darkening valley before Old Man Banks staggered 
from the saloon to his rickety wagon and frightened 
boys. He managed to keep hold of a jug, but the hard- 
earned money of his boys lay in Bud Slavin’s bar till, 
and they never saw a dollar of it again. 

When a few weeks later, Caleb Wainwright came to 
know how his little friends had been wronged, he 
solemnly raised his hand to heaven and declared war, 
unrelenting war, upon the saloon. 

There can be no freedom, there can be no progress, 
there can be no manhood, where the drink demon holds 
within its clutches the rights of childhood. 


CHAPTEE IV 


A DECLARATION OF WAR 

Through the winter Avhich folloAved. Caleb made 
a thorough caiiA^ass of the country, speaking in school 
houses, in country churches, in the broad halls of hos- 
pitable farmhouses, to the neighbors who would con- 
gregate, and eA^er his theme Avas the OA’^erthrow of the 
giants of the hill country — the liberation of the people 
from their bondage of poA^erty and debt, from ignor- 
ance and immorality. Not alAA’ays did he make con- 
A^erts, nor induce great numbers of his hearers to 
moA"e out of and from their shiftless, hopeless, AAUcked 
ways; but some, here and there, conAunced by the 
proofs Caleb was able to shoAv of the profits from sci- 
entific culture and marketing of fruits and A^egetables, 
were induced to make the first step for liberty. 

Likewise, as the editor told of the success of the 
neAA^ school at Crockett City, and pleaded with the 
parents for a better manhood and AAmmanhood for 
their children than they themseh^es had known, the 
heart of many a mother gloAved into a resoh^e that 
Jakey and Sallie should haA^e the "darnin’.” 

But it Avas when Caleb threAv the power of his elo- 
quence and logic upon the forces Avliich stood arrayed 
40 


A Declaim AT ioN of Wab 


41 


to prevent the deliverance of the people, that with 
fiendish cunning and persistency demanded not only 
the enslavement of men and women, but the destruction 
of every right of childhood, and charged the saloon 
with being the arch enemy of man, the father of ignor- 
ance, of sloth, of poverty, of wretchedness and crime 
— then were his hearers stirred indeed. 

To take his toddy when he felt ill, and when he 
felt fit; when sad, and when rejoicing; with the first 
feeble wail as an infant, and when the rattle of death 
came to the throat; to augment wedding joys, and 
assuage funeral woes — ^and above all to honor with it 
the birthday of the Savior of men — to make it when 
he could, to buy when prevented from making — this 
was the traditional heritage and inalienable right of 
the dwellers of the hills. 

No light task lay before the man who would scale 
the ramparts of prejudice, of habit, of appetite, and 
slay the giant whose fiery breath dried up the blood, 
the manhood, and the soul of its slaA^es. 

Upon his return from one of these speaking trips, 
Caleb was visited at the printing office by Bud Slavin. 
A sour look was upon his usually jolly face as he came 
striding up to the editor. “Well, Wainwright, I hear 
you’re toting a mighty big load these days, and I just 
come over to let you know that you might drop my 
business out of your pack. I can ’tend to that. Maybe 
you never heard of the fellow that got rich minding 
his own affairs.” 


42 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


“I understand exactly what you mean, Bud, and 
for your clear understanding of the situation, let me 
tell you that my business, from now on, is to kill your 
business. I have tried to get these people out of their 
slavery to debt and poverty, to where they can live and 
think, instead of merely existing to vegetate. I have 
gotten some of them aroused and started upon the road 
up and out, with a few dollars ahead, and time after 
time I have seen their hard-earned money go into your 
till. I have come to the conclusion that your business 
stands square across the way that leads to any better- 
ment of conditions in this hill countr}" — and, under- 
stand me, I repeat it, my business is now to get your 
business out of that loay. If it had been only the men 
Avhom you are degrading, or even the helpless wives, 
I might not have been aroused to war, but Avhen I 
see your business blast the lives of the children — con- 
demned as they are to nine months out of the year in 
the cotton patch — and your business not only robbing 
them of their rightful wages, but denying them the op- 
portunity of an education and anything better than 
they have now, shutting their immortal souls behind 
the doors of a vile prisonhouse of ignorance and pov-i 
erty and evil — when I see and know this, my blood 
boils, and I raise my hand to heaven, as I do now^, and 
declare an eternal war against you.” 

“That’s pretty preaching,” sneered Slavin, “but let 
me tell you something: There was another chap once 
came into these hills who thought he knew more than 
God Almighty, and tried to run things. If you’ll come 


A Declaration of War 


43 


with me sometime I’ll show you the pretty little mound 
where he is stopping.” 

The significance of Bud Slavin’s words was not 
lost upon Caleb. He knew that the very men whose 
lives he was giving his life to liberate and enlarge, 
could be lashed into a fury against him by an appeal 
to their prejudice and appetite. It would not be dif- 
ficult, nor a matter of risk to himself, for Slavin to 
give direction to that aroused rage. 

The God-chosen leader ever wears the crown of 
thorns, and his heart-blood marks his pathway. 

Caleb sat long with his head bowed upon his hands 
— not in despair ; not even hesitating — but laying plans 
for the accomplishment of the purpose which now, 
more than all else, filled his soul. The saloon must 
go, or, he clearly saw, all the streams of profit begin- 
ning to flow into the country through the new order of 
things, would find their ultimate way into the till of 
the liquor dealer, and the slavery and degradation of 
the people be unrelieved. The gage of battle was flung 
down, and it behooved Caleb to consider the opposing 
forces. 

Mentally he arrayed before him his friends, those 
whom he might depend upon to stand by him at all 
hazards. Not many were there. Bud Slavin’s pub- 
lic boast, which had not been challenged, was that, to 
a greater or less extent, every family in the settlement 
was his patron, at some time during the year, except 
that of the editor and the “second blessing” preacher. 
George Farris, giving his life for the youth of the 


44 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


country, carried, he knew, a hatred of the saloon as 
deep as that of Caleb. The school teacher would stand. 
And then, the gentle, kindly, old, Methodist preacher, 
clear of mind and pure of heart could be depended 
upon to go all the way. To these two Caleb could add 
another, a young banker at the county-seat, Truman 
Strong. This young man had attended one of Caleb’s 
meetings, and had not only been captivated by the 
plans presented for the material liberation of the peo- 
ple, but found himself at one wuth the speaker in his 
estimation of the overshadowing evil of the saloon. 
Truman Strong would not only furnish money, but 
would throw his splendid personality and political in- 
fluence into the fight. 

Again the door of the printing office opened, and 
Eube Dorman came in. ^Notwithstanding Caleb’s mar- 
riage with his daughter, there had not been any great 
degree of cordiality between the two men. Dorman 
loved money; Caleb loved men. Dorman’s business 
was to gain wealth, even if it crushed men ; Caleb was 
even now planning to crush a business that men might 
be set free. With Dorman, altruism was to be classed 
as criminal foolishness, even as later, among the men 
of his class, spirituality w^as to be denounced as in- 
sanity. 

Dorman had prospered greatly through the new 
order which his son-in-law had brought in. He had 
sold many a tract of land for fifty dollars per acre 
which had cost him five. He was a director in the new 
bank, the president of the canning and evaporating 


A Declaration of War 


45 


plant, and a large stockholder in the shipping com- 
pany. He had been generous with Caleb in many 
little ways. When each time his son-in-law had brought 
the interest money due upon deferred payments on the 
farm which he had purchased, Dorman had waved 
the money aside, saying, “Give it to Nellie for a new 
dress.” 

Today he seated himself at the table near Caleb 
with an evident attempt at cordiality. “Well, son, how 
are Nellie and the orchard getting along? You all 
must come by oftener and see us old folks. I see the 
big dailies are giving you a great send-off about this 
fruit and truck business. I reckon you made a sure 
enough hit there. But, Caleb, don’t you go too far 
with some of your ideas. I don’t like what I hear some 
of the folks saying about your talk of running out the 
saloon. Now you know that’s all moonshine. You 
can’t stop men drinking if they want to drink. If 
these shiftless grubbers want to make fools of them- 
selves, I say let ’em. I find a chance to take care of 
a few of their dollars while they do it. You don’t want 
to kill the town by driving out the saloon. Of course 
I don’t believe in rowdyism any more than you do ; but 
men :are going to have liquor, and they are going to 
trade at the place where they can get it.” 

For a few moments Caleb poured forth an impas- 
sioned plea for the souls and the very lives of his 
people — but suddenly stopped, as the utter hopeless- 
ness of such an appeal, to a man like Rube Dorman, 
bore in upon him. 


46 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


The elder man arose with the words, “Well, Wain- 
wright, you’ve no call to make a fool of yourself, and 
as I am Nellie’s father, I am bringing you this friendly 
warning: You drop the fight on the saloon^'^ and he 
closed the door behind him. 

Doubly strong is he who has the love and encour- 
agement of a good woman; sad the lot of him who 
fights his battles alone ; or, worse, who carries the bur- 
den of a heart wounded in the home. We laud the 
strength and acclaim with honor the achievements 
of successful men, whose faithful wives will, in the 
day of reckoning, stand by their sides to receive 
crowns unthought of here. We are shocked at the 
sudden shipwreck of other lives upon whom we had 
depended to bring to harbor their rich freightage — 
scuttled and sent to the bottom by the one in the home 
who should have been inspiration and guide. Nellie 
Wainwright had all the fixity of purpose of her 
father, Kube Dorman, but, unlike him, she had had 
her purposes of life sanctified by the Son of God, 
who gave Himself for others, and so she became a 
fitting helpmeet to her young husband. 

“Caleb,” she said, “I love papa, but first, I love 
God, and then I love you, and I love the poor people. 
We will be true to the vision, and if God be with us, 
He will give us the land.” 

In the ^fethodist church, the following Sabbath, 
the pastor preached a sermon that, for its straight 
dealing with the evils of the liquor business, stirred 
first his congregation, and soon the whole country 


A Declaration of War 


47 


around about. Some converts were made to the cause, 
but the response was more of dissent than approval. 
The Avar was on. 


CHAPTEK V 


A SERMON IN BLACK 

At the opening of the third spring since his return, 
it would have been difficult for Caleb to say which 
way the balances were swinging — for or against the 
cause to which he had pledged his life : the liberation 
of his people from the thrall of the giants of the hills. 
It was true, that through his instrumentality, better 
economic conditions had become established, and there- 
by the ability of the people to arise from poverty, debt 
and ignorance assured, but with the new impulse of 
commercial development there had also come to Crock- 
ett City an addition to the forces of evil. Ben Satter- 
white, a thrifty farmer, lured by the prospect of easy 
gain in the liquor business, had moved to town and 
opened a second saloon; a flashily dressed stranger, 
who gave his name as Bob Black, appeared, and opened 
up a place at the outskirts of town — a place to be 
spoken of only in whispers. Open drunkenness in- 
creased, and the windowless gambling room in the 
rear of the Farmers Exchange became a place of vile 
orgies, to which the young boys of the town and sur- 
rounding country were enticed and debauched. 

Following a sermon of Pastor Miller, in which he 
made an impassioned plea for the mothers and fathers 
48 


A Sermon in Black 


49 


of his congregation to arise and save their sons — 
and daughters — from the blighting influence of the 
saloon, Caleb devoted a whole issue of his paper to 
specific charges, giving dates and circumstances (but 
for the present withholding names), in which the sa- 
loons of Crockett City had violated the provisions of 
the law by which they existed; had robbed intoxicated 
men ; had enticed and debauched youth ; and destroyed 
the virtue of womanhood. The array of facts was ap- 
palling. Then the editor closed with a denunciation 
of such an institution in their midst, that was like a 
stream of burning lava from an overflowing volcano. 

At the beginning, Wainwright, in his opposition 
to the saloon, was actuated solely by his love for men, 
and desire to remove from their path anything which 
might hinder their well-being or progress. He was 
coming, however, to harbor a hatred which was not 
Christlike, and to fight with the lust of battle which 
seeks the overthrow of the enemy as an end. It is pos- 
sible to fight some specific sin in such a way las that the 
carnal heart within will turn the force of attack from 
principle to person, from sin to sinner. The warfare 
of Satan himself is not, primarily, against the laws 
or attributes of God, but against His Person^ as repre- 
sented now in Jesus Christ. 

Into this state, Caleb was unconsciously drifting, 
and the Saturday night following the issue of his pa- 
per referred to, the contest took on a still more per- 
sonal aspect. 

After their supper, Caleb and Nellie sat long upon 


50 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


the “gallery” of their cottage, watching the glow of 
sunset linger upon the tops of the hills. As darkness 
crept up from the valley, the young wife drew close 
up to the shelter of the strong arm, and clasped her 
fingers within those of her husband. The lazy breeze 
from the east brought to them a faint perfume of the 
new orchard. From somewhere in the grove about 
the house the sad-sweet night song of the mocking- 
bird came trembling, like the far-off earth-memory 
of some soul in glory. Down by the spring another 
bird was insistently calling for someone to “whip- 
will’s-widow.” 

“Caleb, is it all true,” said Nellie, after a long 
silence, “those dreadful things you put in the paper? 
I know it must be, because you say so ; but why haven’t 
the people stopped such things before now?” 

Then Caleb, as he had not done before, led his wife 
into the secret place of his soul — the place of his 
Burning Bush — and made known to her his divine 
commission. 

“But 3mu, Caleb ; is there not danger to ? Will 
they not try to do j^ou harm?” 

“Perhaps,” responded the man, “but, my wife, 
would you have me prove a traitor to God and this 
people because of possible danger ? I know you would 
not.” 

The hands of Nellie were clasped tightly about his 
arm, but it was the touch of one who buckles on a 
shield. 

For some time she had been watching a shadow 


A Sermon in Black 


51 


out in. the yard, cautious!}^ slipping from tree to tree. 
Now it had hidden itself in the darkness near the 
smokehouse, a few rods away. Once she thought she 
caught a movement as of a beckoning arm. 

“Caleb,” quietly spoke the girl, “would you mind 
taking the bucket and bringing me a little fresh water 
from the spring?” The shadow creeping and slinking 
about the house had worn the broad-brim hat of the 
cowboy, with dispirited rim flopping down about the 
wearer’s ears, and it had brought recognition to Nellie. 
As soon as Caleb was out of hearing, she quickly 
stepped over to the smokehouse, saying, “What is it. 
Colonel?” 

The old human derelict crouching there was trem- 
bling so that he could hardly speak. “It’s for Hetty’s 
sake. Miss Nellie, you’ve always been mighty good to 
her.” 

“Yes, Colonel,” impatiently broke in Nellie, as 
the old man hesitated, “tell me quick; Caleb will be 
back in a minute.” 

“It’s about him. They’ve planned to fix him as he 
comes from church tomorrow night. But they’ll kill 
me too, if they find I’ve told. You won’t let them 
know, will you. Miss Nellie?” 

Nellie’s thankful assurance wtas given just in time 
for her to answer Caleb’s call from the house. 

That Sunday night sermon, which Caleb did not 
hear, proved to be the last preached by Wallace Miller 
in his pastorate at Crockett City. A wealthy brother- 
in-law of Bud Slavin was the channel through which 


52 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


the saloon keeper reached the church authorities. A 
long- forgotten rule was invoked against the preacher. 
For “holding meetings” (as his prohibition campaign 
with Wainwright was called), on the charges of other 
preachers, this faithful pastor and servant of Jesus 
Christ and His kingdom was deprived of his pulpit 
and scanty support, until conference should give its 
verdict, for two other submissive preachers were found 
who would testify to having “protested” against the 
meetings. 

Before the old man took his meager belongings 
from the parsonage, he came for a last word of en- 
couragement, of advice, and warning to the editor. 

“My boy,” said he, “I believe you are God’s man 
for this work, and being God’s man you will succeed. 
But you must come to know that the man whom God 
calls to stand out before his fellows to face the forces 
of evil, walks much alone. His is the martyr’s life, 
if not the martyr’s death. Mine has been the first; 
both may be yours. But, my boy, there is, I fear, a 
spirit of bitterness creeping into your heart against 
the men; you are not distinguishing clearly between 
the individuals and their business. God’s way is the 
way of love, and it is His will that those who serve 
Him shall be perfected in love. You must pray for 
the grace that will enable you to fight and overcome 
evil, and yet your heart be kept filled with tender and 
compassionate love for the evil doer.” 

While the words of his friend, the faithful old 
preacher, stirred within the heart of Caleb a strange 


A Sermon in Black 


53 


sense of conviction, his understanding was not opened, 
and they did not bear fruit until after many days. 

It was the Sunday that the new pastor preached his 
first sermon from the text, ‘‘Pray for the peace of 
Zion,” that Caleb and Nellie, coming home from 
church, found sitting upon their back doorstep a for- 
lorn looking creature. It was a black man, of per- 
haps sixty years, though of no appearance of age, save 
a rim of white wool on the sides of the face and under- 
chin. His clothes were of cheap quality, and showed 
the signs of travel, but bore an indication of unusual 
neatness. As they came near they saw the old man 
was endeavoring with a bandana handkerchief lo 
staunch the flow of blood from a wound on his cheek. 
Unconsciously, a frown came to the face of Caleb, as 
he noted the color of the intruder, but Nellie, Georgia - 
born, rushed to him, her voice all sympathy. 

“Oh, Uncle, how did you get hurt? Come into the 
kitchen and let me fix it up for you.” 

“Hit war one of dese yer hill-billies let fly er rock 
at me. Whut fer, yo’ reckon, li’P missy? I’s cornin’ 
down yere peace’ble like, musin’ on de goodness an’ 
marcy ob de Lawd, an’ all to onct some white folkses 
— yas’m, dey’s men pussons — gin ter shout an’ chase 
atter me and rock me. An’ de preacher — yas’m, hit 
war de preacher — he laugh when de rock hit my haid. 
Whut fer dey all do dat away, li’l’ missy?” 

“No, marster,” — to Caleb — “I don’ sass ’em back 
none — I runs. Dey all flung rocks and dirt at my 
Lawd, an’ dey sho nuff kills Him, an’ He don’ cuss 


54 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


’em ner sass ’em. He say ‘Fergiv clem,’ and I does, 
Marster. I reckon dey all don’ know no better, lak de 
Lawd He say.” 

Perhaps nowhere is race antipathy more pro- 
nounced than among the hill dwellers. Of the purest 
Anglo-Saxon blood themselves, the prejudice of un- 
likeness — that thing which through all the ages has 
been the basis of war between peoples, tribes and na- 
tions — through their semi-isolation had been pre- 
served. 

Not only had black slavery never existed among 
them, but, as a rule, the very presence of one of the 
colored race was not (and to this day in many dis- 
tricts is not) tolerated. Proud, sufficient unto them- 
selves, servants to no one, asking service from none, 
they escaped some of the evils resultant to the more 
indolent, ease-loving dwellers of the lowlands from the 
institution of slavery. Yet, on the other hand, they 
came to know nothing of that peculiar affection which 
the families of the masters often had for their black 
servitors, nor the really pathetic loyalty and devotion 
some of these old slaves bore to any and all who carried 
the family name. 

“Uncle Zeke” Dorman had felt, with advancing 
years, an irresistible desire to spend his last days with 
some of “his folks.” The war had laid waste the old 
plantation when Sherman “marched to the sea.” “OP 
Mars and oP Miss” were sleeping in the briar-grown 
family lot. The two daughters of the “big house” had 
married and gone away to the North — where. Uncle 


A Sermon in Black 


55 


Zeke could not remember. Mars Reuben, the little 
chap he had dandled upon his knee, and later had 
taught to catch the shiners from the branch with a 
pin hook, and then to snare Molly Cottontail in the 
runways of the swamp — little Rube was somewhere 
“out west.” 

Standing one day upon one of the busy street cor- 
ners of Atlanta, a page of newspaper blew to his 
feet, and his eyes catching sight of the picture of a 
peach and the word “Dorman,” he eagerly grabbed it 
up and read. 

“Dat’s hit!” the old man fairly shouted, “dat’s de 
peach whut de Injun gib oF Marster. An’ Crockett 
City — dat’s whah I fin’ Mars Rube.” 

He had indeed found Mars Rube, but it was with a 
command to “Move along. We don’t allow niggers to 
stop in this town.” And the old man turned away 
without making himself known. 

Sadly he had “moved along.” Yet even as he 
went there came to him remembrance of the God — ^his 
God — who cared for Abraham as he went forth into a 
strange land, not knowing where. Then, old-time 
Methodist that he was, he broke forth into praises of 
the One who had been with him all the way, and vvho 
would not desert him now in his old age, but would 
direct his steps. It was at the moment when his con- 
fidence overflowed in joy, that he attracted the atten- 
tion of the white men, with the result we have. seen. 

By the time the wound had been kindly and deftly 
dressed, and the old man refreshed by a “snack” dain- 


56 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


tily spread upon the kitchen table, Nellie had learned 
his story, and Uncle Zeke was blissfully happy in the 
knowledge that it was the hands of his “own li’l’ 
missy,” the granddaughter of Ok Marster, that had 
been reached out to him in mercy. 

It would be hard to say, from that day, whether 
Nellie owned Uncle Zeke, or whether the old black man 
owned the beautiful white girl, her home, and all her 
belongings. Caleb at times was inclined to the latter 
idea, but, tender husband and wise man that he was, 
he spoke no word of dissent to his happy wife. A 
little house was erected and comfortably furnished in 
the back yard, and Uncle Zeke became a fixture. It 
was the old black hands that planted and tended the 
garden; it was he who set the eggs and cooped the 
fussy hens and their downy broods; wdio kept buckets 
of cool water always upon the back gallery bench. It 
was he who later became cook and “washerwoman,” 
and housekeeper, and then nurse. It was in those old 
black arms that Nellie’s little boy lay, and was pressed 
to a heart which both father and mother knew would 
never fail in its faithfulness. 

But it was before baby hands had placed the croAvn 
of joy upon the home that Uncle Zeke was able to 
prove his attachment to Caleb himself. 

In his paper the editor had spoken so plainly of 
the resort at the edge of town, that, through fear of 
possible exposure, the men and boys who had been its 
frequenters were, for the time, staying away, much 
to the financial loss of Bob Slack. So it was not a 





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A Sermon in Black 


57 


difficult matter for Slavin’s advice, that Slack “take it 
out of Wainwright,” to be accepted by that gentleman. 
Placing a revolver in his hip pocket he proceeded to 
the printing office, determined to provoke Caleb into a 
fight, when he could have an excuse to shoot him “in 
self-defense.” He could count upon Slavin’s influence 
to clear him in court. 

Proceeding to the rear door, he endeavored to call 
Caleb out ; but the editor, suspicioning his errand, and 
not knowing how many more of his enemies Avere out 
there lying in wait, replied, “This is my place of busi- 
ness; if you want to do business with me, come in- 
side.” 

The man stepped through the door, cursing, but 
to his Aule abuse Caleb only smiled, as if amused. As 
Slack Avorked himself into a frenzy, the editor Avatched 
him as a cat would a mouse, read}^ to spring upon the 
man the instant he should make a moA^ement to draw 
his gun. Finally the moment came — the slight for- 
ward thrust of body to more easily release the weapon, 
Avhen, before Slack’s hand could be raised, or Caleb 
could gather himself to spring, a mighty roar came 
from behind Slack : 

“Drap dat gun er yon’s a daid man!” 

So closely had Caleb been watching his antagonist 
that he had not noticed the entrance of Uncle Zeke, 
who now stood with a heavy steel side-stick from the 
nearby forms, raised menacingly above Slack’s head. 
The revoh^er had fallen to the floor at the sound of the 


58 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


terrible voice behind him, and with the second com- 
mand,, “Now yo’ git!” the coward turned and fled. 

“Mars Calip, I specs yo’ bettah let me tote dat gun. 
I specs yo’ gwine hu’t yo’se’f, yo’ gets dat mad w’en 
yo’ looks at it.” 

“Zeke,” replied Caleb, handing over the weapon 
to the negro with a smile, “would you really have hit 
that man with the steel bar? You might have killed 
him.” 

“Well, Mars Calip, I specs de Lawd ain’t gwine let 
me kill no man cept He pintedly wants dat man ter die. 
But dat man he sho’ly do leg it w’en I yell,” the old 
man concluded with a chuckle. 


CHAPTEE VI 


YE MUST BE BORN AGAIN 

Elder Kirkland was known in the Hills Conference 
as a loyal church man. If he had strong prejudices, 
he had also strong regard for position. His prejudices 
kept him from leaning too far over the denominational 
wall to look after those who would not be likely to be 
brought into his fold ; and his regard for position made 
him quick to take the hint dropped as to the desires 
of those of his brethren in authority. He smoked the 
same brand of cigars affected b}^^ the bishop, and told 
with gusto the presiding elder’s “racy” stories. 

If it had been in these latter days of church in- 
fidelity, he would have talked knowingly of the con- 
clusions of modern scholarship; but as the church had 
not long been cut loose from its leadership of the fiery, 
cleansing Holy Spirit — through which severance she 
has since been drifting into all strange waters, and 
upon the rocks of rank infidelity^ — this pastor wmidd 
but parrot his superiors’ sneers at the “cranktification- 
ists,” as those few were called who were creating a 
disturbance in calling attention to the fact that the 
founder of the denomination and the standards de- 
manded a “second work of grace” to cleanse the heart 
of the believer. 


59 


60 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


But Elder Kirkland believed in the annual summer 
meeting ; he always held them upon his charges. They 
were as much a part of his ecclesiastical machinery as 
the quarterly conferences. Often he would have his 
presiding elder help him for the ten days, but if the 
elder was busy elsewhere, he considered himself en- 
tirely able to be his own evangelist. To give the pas- 
tor justice, he was not without pulpit ability, and he 
had a fund of pathetic anecdotes, which he could tell 
with an abundance of emotion which never failed to 
reflect itself in the audience. 

Added to this, the preacher was a popular man. 
He was hail-fellow-well-met with every man in the 
community, and, as he said from the pulpit, many a 
time would go down to the saloon late at night — not 
to drink of their liquor; he knew where to draw the 
line — but to smoke a friendly cigar with the barkeeper, 
and urge him to come to church. 

There was not a woman who came out of the hills 
to trade in the village that the preacher did not throw 
into a flutter of pleased excitement by a promise to 
“come out and eat yellow-legged chicken with you- 
all.” 

Elder Kirkland was sure of his congregation, sure 
of his salary, and sure of familiar attention from 
those higher up the ecclesiastical ladder. 

When the August sun began to beat down fiercely ; 
when the cotton had been “laid by”; when the only 
wmrk being done was by the few who had fruit for 
shipment or vegetables for the cannery; when gray 


Ye Must Be Born Again 


61 


dust covered grass and shrub along the roads and bri- 
dle paths; and the shrill whirr of the locust took up 
the stor^^ the mockingbird had dropped — then came 
time for the annual “big meeting.” 

The early Virginia and Georgia Methodists, and 
later, the Presbyterians of the Cumberland mountains, 
builded upon scriptural lines when they instituted 
these great yearly convocations, out under the shade 
of the spreading trees. The Feast of Tabernacles of 
the Jews became the arbor meetings of the hill-dwell- 
ers. 

The foundation was, of course, religious. It was 
expected that the lapses of a year would at this time 
be repaired, the winter backslidings healed, grudges 
laid aside (at least temporarily), and the more enthu- 
siastic “get happy.” The church would be “revived.” 
In this, too, custom harked back to the Jews, when 
the high priest entered in once a year to sacrifice for 
the people. Not yet had there come to the hill-dwellers 
knowledge of that new and better way whereby Christ, 
being otfered once for all. His people should be purged 
from their dead works, and enabled to walk in newness 
of life all their days. 

Not only was the church to be given its annual re- 
vivifjdng, but new members were expected to be added. 
With these folk to be an “unbeliever,” as those not con- 
nected with any church were designated, was to be out- 
side the pale of respectability. Young men became 
Methodists or Baptists or Campbellites, according to 


62 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


the faith of their fathers, as they became Democrats 
or Eepublicans or Populists — when the time came. 

Of course, all the girls were church members. It 
was the crowning glory of the last day of the big meet- 
ing as these fresh, nature-reared maidens, arrayed in 
their stiffly-starched white dresses, filed into the re- 
served front seats, there to be greeted with a handshake 
by the pastor, as he opened the doors of the fold to 
these lambs of the flock. Then the entire audience 
would march around in front singing, “Come ye that 
love the Lord, we’re marching to Zion,” and the hands 
of the new members were again clasped, by each 
individual in turn. This last ceremony was varied in 
the Baptist and Campbellite meeting by the singing of 
“On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand” as the candidates 
came up out of the water. 

I said that all the girls joined the church, but there 
was an exception. The girl who, through ignorance, or 
neglect, or waywardness, was known to have stepped 
aside from the path of virtue — she might come to 
meeting, if she sat somewhere in the shadows, at the 
rear, but she would never be asked to come out into the 
bright light of the front row. She would never hear 
the Church singing to her, “Come ye that love the 
Lord.” 

Though the arbor meeting was, as I have said, re- 
ligious in its foundation, it was perhaps, in a great 
degree, social. Not that I would suggest any incom- 
patibility between religion and the social instinct. 
The same God who commanded worship of Himself, 


Ye Must Be Born Again 


08 


Himself set the solitary in families. It was the time 
of yearly reunions ; of the giving and receiving the un- 
written history of neighborhoods, which supplied, in a 
degree we of the larger world can scarcely realize, the 
lack of new^spaper, of magazine and book. 

Between services there was ample time for the 
young gallants to advance from the casting of ‘‘sheep ’s- 
eyes” to carrying the fans of blushing, giggling girls, 
out in strolls over quiet paths under the cool shadows 
of great trees. 

One such couple was marked, but with quickly 
averted eyes, for the girl was one of those who sat in 
the dark seats at the rear of the arbor, whom no one 
had asked to come forward to sit upon the front bench. 
But this day the heart of Hetty Porterfield was sing- 
ing again, as if it had never known grief and shame. 
Handsome, polite Bob Slack was picturing to her a 
beautiful home where nothing but love would ever 
enter, of which she should be the mistress, while he 
would be the willing slave. When the last night of the 
meeting should come, he would take her there. 

Caleb had been a quite regular attendant at the 
meetings, as behooved a faithful member of the church, 
yet, in spite of his good intentions, he would find him- 
self losing interest in the doctrine of infant baptism, 
in the glories of the church’s past, and in the death- 
bed stories of the preacher. His mind, wandering out 
to dwell upon the condition of the people of the hills, 
he would find himself asking the question if there was 
not somewhere in the gospel, which Jesus came to 


64 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


bring, power to change the lives of men that they 
should be free from those things which all knew to be 
evil. He saw the young men come forward and give 
their hands to the preacher for church membership, 
and, so far as anyone knew, there had never come to 
their lives anything so radical in the way of change, 
as could, in any degree, merit the designation of a 
“new birth.” Their names would be on the church 
roll, as were the names of their fathers, and they would 
sport and drink liquor — perhaps on occasion get under 
its influence. For the greater part of the year they 
would live in the world, with the world, and like the 
world — as did their fathers. Next summer they might 
(and many would) come to the big meeting and get 
“revived”— with their fathers. They would be Meth- 
odists and Baptists and Campbellites, as they were 
Masons and Odd Fellows and Woodmen — though 
if the strict truth be demanded, the lodge would get 
the preference when a choice was necessary. 

The heart of Caleb was gripped in a mighty pain, 
and he cried within himself, “Oh, God, is this the 
Church of Jesus Christ, against which He promised 
that the gates of hell should not prevail?” 

The last service of the big meeting had closed. 
There had been rather more than the usual number of 
accessions to the church, for the popularity of the 
preacher had won over some whose hereditary alle- 
giance to another fold was not strong. A good collec- 
tion was raised for the pastor, the presiding elder, and 
“expenses.” The rattle of wagons and calls of horse- 


Ye Must Be Born Again 


65 


back riders, told of the crowd departing for another 
year to dwell among the “flesh pots and leeks.” 

Hettie Porterfield had disappeared into the shad- 
ows with Bob Slack for her new home of love and 
ease. 

The lights were out, but Caleb sat for a little time 
in the moonlight, communing with his sad heart. 
Suddenly he was startled out of his musing by a fa- 
miliar voice: “Oh God, have mercy and save my soul !” 

Quickly springing to a bench at the side and near 
to the back of the arbor he came to the one of the 
burdened soul, a man lying prostrate in the straw. 
“Wainwright, is it you?” spoke the voice. “Don’t 
leave me ! I have confidence in your religion. Help 
me. I am a lost man unless God has mercy on me. 
I have come here night after night, hoping for a word 
of comfort or help, but it has been as chaff for my 
famishing heart.” 

Then there, in the darkness, after the meeting had 
closed, Caleb dealt faithfully with the soul of George 
Farris, the young teacher. Step by step, with prayer 
and exhortation and promise from God’s Word, the 
penitent seeker was led by his friend, until at last 
he realized that the sacrifice on Calvary was for him; 
that the blood which poured from the riven side was 
for the washing away of his sins; that the “whosoever” 
included the name of George Farris. 

At once there settled over him a peace, a joy, a 
sweetness, that \yas like a robe of glory — of light in- 
effable. In exact truth he felt himself a Thew creature^ 


m 


Caleb of the Ilnx Country 


and like the Mary who clasped the feet of the Newly 
Kisen, he could but say, Lord and my God !” 

Caleb reached his office late on that Monday morn- 
ing after the close of the big meeting. Upon his ar- 
rival at home long after midnight, he found that 
Nellie, fearing for his safety in his unexplained ab- 
sence, had despatched Uncle Zeke across the hills to 
the meeting place, to bring her husband, or word from 
him. But now Uncle Zeke himself was missing, and 
a hurried search over the farm, and even out at the 
arbor, failed to give trace of the old black man. 

Caleb was filled with a fear that had hardly, as 
yet, become defined, as he reached town. There an 
excited group which was gathered about Colonel Por- 
terfield for the moment turned his thoughts into an- 
other channel. 

^‘Yes sah, Mistah Caleb,” the poor old man called 
out as he saw the editor approaching, “Some one’s 
stolen my little girl. This is her pretty new hat I 
found out near — out near — ” he cast a quick, appre- 
hensive glance over at Bud Slavin, “over in the hills. 
My po’ little motherless girl !” 

It was remembered afterward that Bob Slack was 
the first one to suggest that a posse be organized at 
once to scour the hills, and that it was he who put 
himself at the head, and led them out across Big Sandy 
to the poor home of the missing girl. But it was also 
not forgotten that Bud Slavin led the second posse, 
which would search through the wooded valleys and 
back up into the hills about his ranch. 


Ye Must Be Bobn Again 


67 


Some pressing matters of shipments claimed his 
attention for the morning hours, preventing Caleb 
from joining either searching party, for the present, 
and it was noon before he was able to carry to Nellie 
the sad news of the disappearance of the poor girl 
whom the young wife had befriended at a time when 
Hettie had no other friend on earth. Then it was that 
Nellie’s words brought remembrance, and made the 
fear of the morning stand out clearly defined in Caleb’s 
brain: the old negro was also missing! Was it pos- 
sible — ? 

Up from the valley there came reports of rifle 
shots, and a yell as when some wild beast is brought to 
bay — or taken. 


CHAPTER VII 


“lynch him! lynch the nigger!” 

The “big road” coming up from the county seat to 
Crockett City swung around a spur of the hills, that, 
crossing Old Man Mason’s farm, jutted down into the 
ranch of Bud Slavin. Back a quarter of a mile from 
the big road was one of the wildest and most secluded 
corners of the hill country. In some of the ages past 
an earth-throe had heaved and lifted and riven in 
twain this spur, leaving a chasm with nearly perpen- 
dicular sides, perhaps thirty feet in width at the 
mouth. A tiny stream trickled down from one side, 
watering beds of maiden-hair fern massed at the base 
of the wall, and clinging here and there in crevices 
part way up the side. 

A dozen rods from the mouth of the glen, around 
the spur of the hill, in an early day, some pioneer had 
built a cabin of time-defying walnut logs, and 
cleared a little patch of ground. The occupant of the 
cabin had proven unsociable to the later settlers in the 
hills, and came to be known as the “hermit.” For long 
years the cabin had been tenantless, and the once 
cleared patch of ground had become a dense thicket of 
persimmon bushes, which completely hid both cabin 
and glen from the passers-by on the big road below. 

G8 


‘Lynch Him ! Lynch the Nigger !’ 


69 


But it was not alone the dense thicket that had 
isolated the place; the story was told by the old men, 
how, a hunter chancing to stop at the cabin, had found 
therein the long- dead body of the hermit with a gaping 
bullet wound in the skull. The belief that the place 
was haunted by the ghost of the dead man was 
strengthened in the superstition of the people by the 
natural wildness and gloom of the place. It was a 
spot to stay well away from. Not often did the door 
swing creaking on its wooden hinges, and the heavy 
oaken shutters to the windows were seldom raised. 

The cavalcade whose shouts and shots had reached 
the ears of Caleb Wainwright at his dinner, had passed 
along the road, around the spur, and for a time there 
had been a commotion as when hunters are afield. 
Now the crowd was passing on again, up toward the 
town, but in the midst, with one end of a lariat tied 
about his neck, and arms fastened behind, half led, half 
dragged, limped and stumbled along an old man — and 
his face was black. 

As they neared the town they came in sight of the 
returning posse led by Bob Slack. At once those of 
the captors in advance spurred up their horses and met 
the others with the shout : 

“We’ve got him! We’ve got the nigger that made 
way with the girl. We caught him near where Colonel 
found his daughter’s hat.” 

“Hooray!” responded Slack. “Jerk the black 
devil along, and we’ll have a hangin’ bee up town.” 

The captive was more dead than alive, with the 


70 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


rough treatment he had received, by the time the com- 
pany arrived in front of the printing office. “Here,” 
called out Slack, “Here is the place to string him up, 
on this postoak by the print shop. Wainwright is the 
fellow that took the nigger in, and ’s been harborin’ 
him.” 

The words were hardly out of the mob leader’s 
mouth before Caleb, revolver in hand, threw open his 
door and strode to the side of the hapless black man. 
The horseman who held the rope which was about the 
negro’s neck, involuntarily dropped it, and the crowd 
fell back a little from the prisoner as the editor ad- 
vanced. As he sank in an exhausted heap down by the 
building, Caleb stepped over him, with his back to the 
wall, facing the crowd. 

“Lynch him! Lynch the nigger!” yelled several 
voices upon the outskirts of the mob. One or two 
near stooped to again pick up the rope. 

“Stand back, every man of you!” shouted Caleb. 
“I’ll kill the first one who touches that rope or lays 
hand upon this old man.” And every one in that 
crowd knew that he meant what he said. 

“L5mch the nigger! Lynch ’em both!” yelled 
Slack. “Ijet’s clean up the whole nest.” 

But it was one thing to make way with a defense- 
less negro, and quite another to mob a determined 
white man of the standing of Caleb Wainwright, and 
no man was quite willing to make the first move. 

“Men,” quietly, but with a terrible earnestness, 
spoke Caleb, “there shall be no lynchings in this town 


“Lynch Him ! Ta^nch the Niggek !’ 


71 


as long as I am alive. This community is going to 
honor law. If this old man is guilty of harming Hettie 
Porterfield, every man of you knows that he will be 
punished, quickly and surely. But he is going to have 
a fair trial.” 

The pitiable heap at his feet groaned, then softly 
spoke, “Mars Cal ip, I done foun’ Miss Hettie. She’s 
alibe. In de harnted house. I tol’ ’er I come fotch yo’.” 
And the old man again fainted. 

“Men” Caleb called out, “Hetty’s found, and is 
alive.” Then calling out by name four of the better 
citizens of the group, he continued, “I am going to trust 
you with the safety of this old man, and the rest of 
3mu I want to go with me to the rescue of the girl.” 

“It’s a trick! It’s a trick!” frantically shouted 
Slack. “Don’t you all listen to him ! Lynch the nig- 
ger ! Lynch ’em both ! String ’em both up now.” 

But Slack had lost his leadership with the crowd, 
and they accepted Caleb’s proposition to go to the 
rescue as he should lead. 

This is the story as told by Uncle Zeke and Hettie 
afterwards : When Nellie, in her anxiety for the safety 
of her husband, despatched L%cle Zeke to the camp- 
ground, she had advised him to keep to the road, but 
he, thinking himself sulRciently familiar with the 
country, decided to save a mile of his walk by cutting 
across over Broad Top hill. That he lost his way was 
not surprising, for shortly after midnight thick clouds 
covered the moon. What fears those rocks and glens 
and thickets held for the old negro, as he stumbled 


Caleb of the IIili- Country 


about in the darkness, one of the white race could not 
comprehend. But the fears of the night were small 
compared with the terror that gripped his heart with 
a paralyzing clutch, as, in the dawning, the old path 
he had come into brought him suddenly face to face 
with the haunted cabin. The heavy oak shutters at 
the windows were fastened down, and the door was 
shut with a heavy bar on the outside. But even as the 
old man gazed trembling, his kinky wool seemed to 
rise upon his head and stand straight out, for within 
the cabin he heard sobs and groans. 

‘‘De harnt!” gasped the negro, all the strength of 
his body leaving him. 

“Daddy, oh daddy! Come get me!” came the muf- 
fled wail. 

“Daddy ! Dat harnt ain’t got no daddy. Dat’s er 
gal. Whose voice dat?” Suddenly he remembered: 
“Dat’s Miss Hetty, de li’l’ gal whut Miss Nellie done 
tuck care ob.” 

Though still trembling, the old negro approached 
the cabin, and his beating upon the door, and attempt 
to break away the fastenings, in turn terrified the im- 
prisoned girl. But at last she recognized his voice 
as he had hers, and the cries and sobs were quieted 
with the promise of deliverance, as Uncle Zeke left to 
bring back “Mars Calip” to open the door and set the 
poor child free. 

It was full daylight when he rounded the spur 
of rock and came to the mouth of the chasm. Here was 
another surprise scarcely less terrifying than those 



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“Lynch Him ! Lynch the Nigger !’ 


73 


the night had held for him, for, within the gloom of 
the great crevice, he noted the unmistakable evidence 
of a brandy still in operation. The fire was low, but 
mash for the run had not been removed, and from the 
great copper worm the liquor was still dropping into 
the condenser. Casks standing about gave evidence of 
quite an extensive business. 

‘‘Befo’ de Lawd, hit’s wil’catters,” gasped the old 
man. 

To the manufacturer of untaxed liquor there was no 
sin in the Decalogue which so merited and would call 
forth the quick and sure penalty of death, as that of 
spying upon a still of “moonshiners” or “wildcatters,” 
as the negro had termed them. 

Of this fact. Uncle Zeke was well aware. He knew 
if he was caught in that vicinity by any of the men 
connected with that still, he would be asked no ques- 
tions, and his burial would be private and without cere- 
mony. Before he could turn away, he heard voices ap- 
proaching, of men coming up from the big road. Once 
again he thanked his God for protecting care, as he 
sank down behind a log half covered with honey- 
suckle. The moonshiners came on, removed the mash, 
refilled the receptacle, replenished the fire, and other- 
wise prepared for the day’s business. 

The hours grew long to the old negro, crouching 
behind the log, and his tender heart ached for the “po’ 
li’l’ missy shet up in de cabin wid de harnt” to whom 
he had promised he would bring rescue. But he real- 
ized that his slightest movement would bring upon 


74 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


him the men who would ask no questions, and who 
speak first with a gun. 

Along about noon the baying of dogs and loud talk 
of horsemen down on the big road attracted the atten- 
tion of the suspicious moonshiners, and they cautiously 
began to creep out into the thicket — one of them over 
the log, and full upon the crouching negro. 

There was nothing for the frightened old man to 
do but to run, and run he did, while the yells of “A 
spy, a spy! a nigger spy!” echoed against the bluffs, 
as the men sprang back to the still house for their 
guns . 

Straight for the cavalcade coming up the road the 
negro ran. If only he could reach them they surely 
would protect him from the wildcatters. The guns be- 
hind him began to pop, and he felt a sting in his hip, 
then, to his utter astonishment and horror, the horse- 
men, seeing a negro fleeing from white men, turned 
toward him, and giving the “view hello,” charged 
down him, firing as they came. The old man turned 
again to run, stumbled and fell — and the next thing 
he knew he was being jerked to his feet by a rope 
tied about his neck. 

When Caleb with his party upon their return 
reached the haunted house, they found, indeed, the 
lost girl, and alive, though scarcely more than that. 
Her fear of the place, and terror from the shots and 
shouting so near by, added to the cruel treatment to 
which she had been subjected during the night, had 
almost deprived her of reason. It was only after 


“Lynch Him ! Lynch the Nigger !” 


75 


several days of Nellie’s tender nursing that she was 
able to tell a coherent story. 

She remembered her promise to Nellie that she 
wouldn’t go wrong again, and had tried to escape, at 
first. Bob Slack’s attention. But during the big meet- 
ing he had promised to marry her, and was so polite 
and kind, she was sure that he loved her, and would 
be true. They had left the meeting together in the 
buggy, to go to the county seat for the license and 
the minister, as he told her, and then, when they had 
gotten past Slavin’s ranch house. Bob had, partly by 
promises, partly by threats, induced her to consent 
to put up for the night at the house of a “friend of 
his,” and they would go on to the county seat in the 
morning. 

When, as they approached the cabin by the rock, 
the moon broke through its dark covering for a mo- 
ment, the girl recognized the haunted house, her fear 
of the place overbore her fears of Slack, and she began 
to scream and struggle to get away. 

It was here that she had lost the hat, which her 
father, on his way to visit the still, had found. 

With bitter curses the man had beaten her over the 
head with his revolver until she was past the power 
of further resistance, and she was dragged into the 
cabin, to return to consciousness in suffering and woe 
and terror. 

At that day the White Slave Traffic was not known 
as an organization, but many a young country girl was 


76 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


trapped by the Bob Slacks to be sold into a slavery 
worse than death. 

When Caleb and his party returned to the town, 
there was no further talk of lynching the old negro, but 
warm thanks and praise that through him Hettie had 
been enabled to escape the worse fate to which she had 
been doomed. It is not certain, however, if there 
might not have been danger to the life of a white man, 
had it not been discovered that Bob Slack had dis- 
appeared, never again to be seen in Crockett City. 

When, at length, the story reached the outside 
world, there came in, quietly, two men who, without 
attracting suspicion, were able to finally locate the 
haunted cabin. Strange as it may seem, however, 
they gave no attention to the cabin, but in their report 
to their Internal Revenue chief, stated that they had 
found an abandoned, dismantled still, and evidently 
the owner or owners had concluded to retire from that 
kind of business. 


CHAPTER VIII 


A PRAYERMEETING OUT OF ORDER 

The showing made by the canning factory and the 
shipping association, from the returns of the season’s 
fruit and vegetable business, put the new order beyond 
the realm of experiment. Scores of hillside tracts were 
set out in fruit trees, and the capacity of the canning 
factory was doubled to care for greatly increased crops 
of vegetables and small fruits which the new contracts 
with the farmers promised. 

Some of the larger farms were cut up into small 
tracts, and sold upon easy payments to the more am- 
bitious of the renter class. In these the responsibility 
of proprietorship soon began to bear fruit in greater 
self-respect, and effort to improve the conditions of 
home life, and the appearance of their families. 

That fall the Conference returned Elder Kirkland 
to Crockett City. The pastor had reason to be w^ell 
pleased with his treatment, as he reported upon his 
return, the Bishop having publicly commended him as 
a safe and sane man. “There were, however, some 
other members of the conference not so fortunate — 
some fellows of the Wallace Miller type — extremists, 
who saw no good in anybody or anything except them- 
selves and their ideas and whose stock in trade seemed 
77 


78 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


to be denunciation of the church and its loyal pas- 
tors.” It seemed that a preacher from Kentuclty, a 
cousin, by the way, of one of the bishops, had gotten 
into the bounds of the conference, and led otf a great 
many of the people, and some of the pastors, into a 
fad called the “second blessing.” “But it would have 
tickled you,” chuckled Elder Kirkland, “to have seen 
the bishop squelch these ‘cranktificationists.’ He was 
a little sharp on the presiding elder of that district, 
too, for letting the thing get a start. But the elder 
promised to have it stamped out by next conference.” 

This pastor did not propose to risk a like rebuke 
from the bishop. He would fortify his flock against 
the heretical doctrines taught by these disturbers of 
the peace of Zion, and announced that he would preach 
on the subject the second Sunday. 

When Caleb first came back to Crockett City, his 
love for the youth had induced him to gather a num- 
ber of them into a weekly prayermeeting. In these 
services, he had, of course, the encouragement and co- 
operation of the pastor, Wallace Miller. It did not 
occur to either the pastor or Caleb, that the conver- 
sion of any of these young people was to be definitely 
sought, except in the time of some special revival 
meetings. So, while the editor and pastor did much 
in the way of teaching them the Word of God, there 
had been no definite religious awakening among them. 

The conversion of George Farris seemed to mark 
not only a new era in his own life, but also in the life 
of Caleb Wainwright. The joy he had known in 


A Prayermeeting Out of Order 


79 


winning that soul put within him a passion he had 
never before known to see others really brought into a 
vital experience of salvation, and his work with the 
young people in the prayermeeting took on a new 
aspect and meaning to him. 

Soon after his conversion, the matter of church 
membership came up to George Farris, and he sought 
the advice of his friend, the editor. Naturally, Caleb 
would have been pleased to have him as a yokefellow 
in his own church, but when the school teacher re- 
marked that his family had always been Baptists, and 
his views on baptism were those of that church, and 
spoke of his regard for the upright life and Christlike 
character of the Baptist pastor, Caleb wisely advised 
his becoming a member of that church. 

While the mind and perhaps prejudice of the editor 
refused to assent to the doctrines to which his friend 
would subscribe, yet he, in his inmost heart, wished 
that he might be able to trace more of the likeness of 
Jesus in his own pastor. It seemed to him a strange 
thing that with the two pastors, one should have a 
faulty doctrine, and a true experience of salvation, 
and the other a perfect doctrine (in his church stand- 
ards) and yet an experience that savored more of the 
things of this life, than that of the world to come. 

Elder Lunford was above the average of his fellows 
in spirituality. A Baptist of the “straitest sect,” he 
held tenaciously and preached the tenets of his church. 
Baptism was nothing less than burial in water ; “close 
communion” was an ordinance of the Master; a child 


80 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


of God could by no possible act of himself become less 
than a child, and an heir to the kingdom of his Father; 
that the fleshly body was full of sin and the most holy 
life possible here below could be but an abomination 
in the sight of God. This he indeed taught, but he 
insisted upon a genuine conversion : if men were to be 
children of God, and so finally heirs of the kingdom, 
they must be “born from above.” 

Naturally, there was little joy in the religion of 
this good man, but occasionally the inner life of real 
regeneration which he had, would break through the 
gi-ave wrappings of doctrine, the face of the man 
would shine, and the glory of God would be upon him. 

What Caleb was to those of the Methodist church, 
that George Farris became to the young Baptist peo- 
ple. The prayermeetings of the two churches being 
held upon different nights, fraternizing between the 
two groups became the order, and as the Spirit of God 
rested upon their meetings, several of the young folks 
were soundly converted. A new and strange religious 
atmosphere came to be felt in the community. 

Pastor Kirkland had not been in the habit of at- 
tending these prayermeetings; he was glad of the 
opportunity of trusting this duty to Wainwright. 
However, happening in one night, on his way home 
from the lodge, he beheld the joy of the Lord being 
given expression in testimony, snatches of choruses, 
and victory-breathing prayer. The following day he 
called upon Caleb and warned him against what he 
called a suspicious trend toward fanaticism. He also 


A PliAYERMEETING OUT OF ORDER 


81 


felt free to say that he saw little good in mixing so 
freely with another denomination. He was sure there 
was nothing to be gained for the church in union 
meetings. 

The Second Sunday sermon of Elder Kirkland 
was greeted with an audience that packed the old, 
swaybacked church to its capacity. The preacher an- 
nounced his subject as “Sanctification,” which, he said, 
was a doctrine of the church, and indeed of all 
churches. 

He believed in sanctification; he believed in holi- 
ness — but he did not believe in “cranktification,” as 
the bishop had so aptly termed it, nor in this “second 
blessing” stuff. He even went so far as to say that 
through consecration, a child of God could receive the 
baptism of the Holy Spirit for service. 

Sanctification, he explained, was the setting apart 
to the service of God, as everyone did themselves when 
they came and joined the church militant. God did 
not have to try twice to save a man. There was noth- 
ing in this second cleansing. Very few of the bishops 
or leading pastors held to that antiquated view. The 
founder of their church himself had repudiated his 
earlier teaching before he died. Those folks, he said, 
led off by this Kentucky preacher, are set out to tear 
down our church. They claim that they can’t sin; 
that they are as good as Jesus Christ and getting 
better every day. “But let me tell you,” thundered 
the pastor, “what John says about them: TTe that 


S2 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


sayeth he liveth and sinneth not, is a liar and the 
truth is not in him.’ 

“They are a set of lying hypocrites. They teach 
free love, and practice it too. Their preachers are 
running around with other men’s wives and breaking 
up homes wherever they go. Nobody, who is any ac- 
count has anything to do with them ; it is the scum of 
the earth that is following them off — folks too lazy 
to work and too dishonest to pay their grocery bills. 
I pray God they never get within the bounds of this 
circuit, but if they do, I warn you to keep your smoke- 
houses locked. Niggers are not in it with these ‘holy’ 
folks when it comes to taking things.” 

The preacher worked himself up into a fervor of 
eloquence, and closed with an urgent appeal for all 
his hearers to stand true to those who were over them 
in the Lord, and to the mother church that had given 
them spiritual birth. 

There were many to crowd forward after the ser- 
mon to shake the hand of the preacher, as of one who 
had won a victory as champion of their cause. But 
Caleb noted that the more spiritual members of the 
congregation went away in a subdued manner, even, 
it seemed, with a spirit of sadness, the cause of which 
they did not understand. 

As George Farris walked home with his friend to 
dinner, they talked over the sermon, and from it went 
deeper into their own experience as Christians. 

“I don’t know about this ‘second blessing,’ except 
that it was said Pastor Wallace Miller professed it,” 


A Prayermeeting Out of Order 


83 


said Caleb. “I don’t think it would hurt any of us to 
get as much religion as he had. If they teach that men 
get to where they can’t sin, of course they go against 
both Scripture and reason; and for a man to be as 
holy as Jesus Christ, he would have to know as much 
as God. They may be a bad lot of fanatics, but, 
George, I wish there was such a thing as the perfect 
love that Brother Miller talked to me about before he 
went away. I know I haven’t it, and I can see very 
little of it in the church. It seems to me that selfishness 
is the rule. I tell you what my heart cries out to be, 
and that is a Bihle Christian. I know I have been 
converted, and I know that I love God, but there are 
times, perhaps just when I am wanting to be at my 
best for Him, that I slip up, and act like a rank sin- 
ner.” 

^‘1 know exactly what you mean,” responded Farris. 
“I was in one of those situations myself Friday. Short- 
ly after I had taken up school after noon, little Ned 
Walls got out his bean shooter and slyly popped Mat- 
tie Slavin on the hand. I took the shooter away from 
him, and told him that if he should ever do such a 
thing in school again, I would punish him severely. 
Before an hour, as I was turning from the blackboard 
to face the school, a second shot from a shooter took 
me squarely in my left eye. It hurt, all right, but the 
pain was as nothing to my anger. Without asking any 
questions, I sprang to Ned’s seat and cuffed him 
soundly, forgetting that I had already taken away his 
ability to shoot beans. The children saw that my pun- 


84 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


ishment of the lad was unjust; that I had struck in 
anger and not in righteousness; that my spirit was of 
the evil one, and not of the loving Christ, whose fol- 
lower I professed to be. I have been calling the little 
ones together for a short time after school, on Friday 
afternoons, to pray with and for them. But last 
Friday my evil act, as I soon recognized it to be, rose 
up like a mountain between me and the children, and 
I realized that I was shut off from them until I had 
cried and prayed for myself, and asked forgiveness of 
them and of God. 

“I was telling my dear old pastor Lunford about 
my experience, but he assured me that such was a part 
of the Christian warfare; that we could expect to be 
occasionally tripped up by the enemy all along our 
journey, but that ‘we had an Advocate with the 
Father.’ ” 

“From what I hear,” said Caleb, “this Kentucky 
preacher and his folks claim that God has an ex- 
perience of constant victory, in every situation of life, 
for those who will ‘pay the price,’ as they say, and 
they preach that this is, or should be, the normal 
experience of the church. I wish I knew if such a 
thing were possible for me.” 

“I am going to find out some day for myself,” re- 
sponded Farris. 

It was in November, when the soft Indian Sum- 
mer was upon the land like a dream of peace; when 
the blue haze hung in the hills, and the scarlet of gum 
trees, yellow of hickory, and brown of maple and oak 


A Pkayermeeting Out of Order 


85 


decked the landscape in a riot of vivid color, that the 
Baptist meeting was held. This was not an arbor 
meeting, but held in the new church house, where a 
somewhat noted evangelist of that denomination had 
been secured for the series of services. 

Like the pastor, the evangelist, “knowing but the 
baptism of John,” preached repentance and regenera- 
tion. The burden of his cry was, “Ye must be born 
again.” It was in this meeting that the fruit of the 
prayeiunefe'ting which iiad been held for the past 
two months or more, began to be seen. The young 
folks who had been converted under the efforts of 
George Farris and Caleb Wainwright, threw them- 
selves into the work of leading others to Christ with 
that zeal characteristic of those to whom all things 
have become new. Many others, members of both 
churches, who had been attending the prayermeetings, 
now yielded, and sought and found the Lord in the 
conversion of their souls. 

Side by side the two friends labored, it never once 
occurring to Caleb that he was out of place in a Bap- 
tist meeting. Before the close of the two weeks of 
services, the editor had the blessed consciousness that, 
through his personal efforts, seven of the business men 
of the town had professed salvation in Jesus Christ. 


CHAPTEK IX 


HE WIST NOT THAT THE SKIN OF HIS 
FACE SHONE 

Not only was there a great awakening on religious 
lines, through the labors of the evangelist who preached 
repentance, and insisted that men must “be born 
again,” but, as he was (which was somewhat remark- 
able for a man of that denomination, at that time and 
locality) an inveterate foe of the saloon, when men 
were converted in his meetings it might be counted 
upon that henceforth the liquor traffic had that many 
more enemies. 

The effect of the Baptist meeting was so wide- 
spread throughout the country, that Caleb saw in it 
an opportunity to strike an effective blow, and he at 
once began the circulation of a petition to the county 
court for an election upon the question of further 
licensing the saloons. After it became known that 
the requisite number of signatures had been secured, 
the editor was surprised one night, when, opening 
the door of his home at a knock, he saw standing with- 
out both of Crocket City's saloon keepers, Slavin and 
Satterwhite. 

“Come in, gentlemen,” heartily invited Caleb. 

86 


He Wist Not 


87 


‘‘It’s this way,” began Slavin, “I know you’ve got 
the names, but I have reason to believe that the county 
court will not grant your petition ; and if it should, I 
don’t believe you could carry through your scheme any 
way. But I am willing to stop the fuss and come to 
some terms with you, if vou’re inclined to be reason- 
able.” 

“Gentlemen,” spoke up Caleb, “I have been learn- 
ing some things lately, and one of them is that if I 
get my directions from God, I don’t go wrong. This 
is a serious matter we are about to talk over; let us 
pray.” 

The men were evidently taken aback, and hesitated, 
but finally did kneel, after a fashion, and Caleb poured 
forth his heart in prayer. First, for the God of love 
to bless the hearts of these two men, that their eyes 
might be opened to the evil of their business ; that they 
might turn from the bringing of harm to their fellows, 
to the doing of good; and then, that whatever plans 
were decided upon by them in that little meeting might 
have the sanction of Almighty God. 

As they arose from their knees Satterwhite was 
clearly broken up. “You call the business evil, Wain- 
wright, but you don’t know a tenth of it. I tell you 
it’s hell. Talk about it being a lawful business — there 
isn’t a saloon keeper living that can run his business 
and track the law.” 

Slavin shifted uneasily. “What I came to say is 
that Satterwhite and I both are willing to quit the 


88 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


business, but we want you to hold back matters and 
give us a little time.” 

“I’m done anyway,” said Satterwhite. 

“Well,” resumed Slavin, “I’m not going to lose what 
I’ve got in the business, but in a little time I think I 
can turn loose.” 

“Do you mean that your saloon will go out of busi- 
ness?” asked Caleb, “or are you intending to sell to 
someone else to continue it?” 

“Don’t take me for a fool. I’ll unload on the other 
fellow and let him take the chance,” replied Slavin. 

“Can’t you understand. Bud, that it is not you, but 
your business, I am opposing?” said Caleb. 

“Seemed to me I w^as the chap you was after a good 
deal of the time,” the saloon keeper responded. “Any- 
way, I came down proposing a little let up on the fight 
for both sides, and things might go easier your way 
as well as mine.” 

“But,” replied Caleb, “that would be an unrighteous 
bargain. I can’t agree to it.” 

“All right,” responded the saloon keeper, “I have 
been white enough to give you your chance; now look 
out,” and he turned and went out. 

“Mr. Wainwright,” said SatterAvhite, turning and 
giving his hand to Caleb,. “I’m going to be a better 
man, and I want you to help me.” 

Through the influence Slavin was able to bring to 
bear upon the court the petition was put over until 
the spring term, and the editor was summoned to ap- 


He Wist Not 


89 


pear at that time and show why the order for the 
election shoidd be given. 

It was on the morning of the second day of the 
New Year that the school teacher, returning from 
an absence during the two weeks holiday vacation, 
came into the printing office. 

Caleb looked up at the usual cordial greeting of 
his friend, and in an instant what he saw sent an 
arrow of spiritual conviction to his heart — there was 
an unearthly, supernatural shine upon the face of 
George Farris. 

It is not within my province to explain this phe- 
nomenon; as an intelligent, sober, sane historian of 
fact I rest the statement. The wise ones who, having 
banished God from His universe, are at no more trou- 
ble to explain away the recorded miracles of Holy 
Writ, than to evolve man from the self-begotten living- 
single-cell, will be able to put together a satisfactory^ 
combination of sub-conscious self and nerves and cap- 
illaries — but the face of George Farris shone! 

It was not merely a pleased or animated expression, 
as of joy or intense interest; rather, the expression was 
restful; but upon that face and fronh that face was a 
glow that carried conviction to a spiritual beholder 
— a conviction of the divine. 

Again, it is not within the province of the writer 
to act as attorney — and present arguments ; but merely 
as a chronicler to state soberly the fact that not only 
in this case, but in scores of others, has he seen the 
face of men and women similarly glow with that 


00 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


supernatural light, which, in of course greater degree^ 
caused the face of Moses to blind the eyes of the Is- 
raelites as he came down from the presence of God 
— that same light which, in the fulness of its glory, 
burst through the material incarnation of the Son of 
God, and clothed the Christ with dazzling brightness 
upon the mountain top. 

For the first time in their friendship Caleb felt 
between himself and Farris a sense of strangeness, al- 
most of constraint. What was this to come between 
them? It was no loss of affection on the part of his 
friend ; every word and tone of his voice spoke love. 

I^Hien they were seated, the teacher, grasping Ca- 
leb’s hand, said, “Wainwright, do you remember our 
talk after Elder Kirkland’s sermon, as w^e walked 
home, how you said you wished you knew if such a 
blessing as we spoke of was for you, and how I said 
I was going to find out for nwself some day? Well, I 
have found out. I have been down to Valley Mills 
for the past ten days, attending a meeting held by the 
Kentucky preacher and his helpers. I listened care- 
fully to his array of Scriptures; I weighed the testi- 
monies, of which there seemed to be no lack, and many 
of which fit my case exactly; I got hungry; I ‘paid 
the price’; and I have the blessing^ praise God! 

“I determined at once to bring the preachers to 
Crockett City, so that our people could hear the good 
news. I have just been to see my pastor about the use 
of our church,” and here his voice saddened, “but the 
dear man took great pains to show me that no such 


He Wist Not 


91 


victory as I described was possible in this life, and 
warned me against going further in the matter. 

“Perhaps you might speak to your pastor for the 
use of your building. The preacher is a member of 
that church in good standing in his conference. It 
seems that we should hold the meeting in some regular 
place of worship, for, of a surety, this thing is God’s 
message to His church.” 

“Of course I’ll see Elder Kirkland about it,” agreed 
Caleb, “but I’m afraid my success will be somewhat as 
yours.” 

It was not only refusal and warning that Wain- 
wright received from his pastor, but scathing denunci- 
ation and threat. Returning with a sober face, but 
one which was set in firm — we almost said hard — lines, 
Caleb said to his friend, “George, as I told you, I 
don’t know about this thing; but these people are 
going to have the chance to present their case in 
Crockett City. If there is no such a life for the church 
as they tell about, there should be. If they know of 
any better way than we have for us poor hill-dwellers, 
I want to hear it. 

“I have this big, old warehouse on the corner rented 
for a year. We had it fixed up for our fruit and vege- 
table business, but shall have no need for it now before 
spring. I’ll get some kind of benches put in, and you 
can bring your preachers on and begin the meeting.” 

A prairie fire in a gale has stood at the head of 
illustrations for rapid spreading, but that would have 
seemed slow to the news which went forth into the 


92 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


town and over the country, that the school teacher and 
editor had sent off for a band of the “holiness” to hold 
a meeting in Crockett City, and that they had been 
refused the use of both church houses. 

It was a distinctly hostile community to which the 
Kentucky preacher came with his message, in the old 
warehouse. We read in the Gospels of the treatment 
their Messiah received at the hands of the Jew^s — of 
the suspicion, the trapping, the mockery, the railing, 
the scourging, the indignities of spittle and rod and 
crowm of thorns, of nail-pierced hands and riven side. 
We turn again to the record for His deeds, and find 
them all of love — feeding the hungry, healing the sick, 
and raising the dead. We look to find, perhaps, in His 
doctrine the reason for the hatred of those whom He 
so blessedly served, and w^e find His wmrds the Way 
of Life out from the ruin of sin back to the peace and 
purity of God. Our heart cries out against the blind- 
ness of those who could so refuse and spurn their 
supreme blessing. 

Is it strange then that he wdio comes w^ith a procla- 
mation that the omnipotent God will, through the sac- 
rifice of His Son, graciously cleanse from all sin the 
heart of those who have been born again, and fill their 
purified souls with the perfect love of Christ, so that 
again upon earth His life shall be re-presented — is it 
strange, I say, that such a preacher shall also receive 
the treatment accorded his Master ? 

Human nature is the same today as in the day 
of the rejecting Jews. Carnality hates the very name 


He Wist Not 


93 


of holiness. But also is it true today, as when the 
hundred and twenty tarried in the upper room, that 
he who hungers and thirsts after righteousness shall 
be filled. 

Between Eube Dorman and his son-in-law there 
had arisen sharp contention and almost an estrange- 
ment over the latter’s persistency in his fight against 
the saloons. This feeling of bitterness was augmented 
in the heart of Dorman when word reached him that 
the husband of his daughter, his only child, had so 
far forgotten himself and his position in the communi- 
ty as to lend his aid to a set of “religious anarchists,” 
crazy fanatics, who, with their hypnotism or other 
wiles of the devil, were turning communities upside 
down wherever they went. 

The words were of anger and resentment, but words 
once given never to be recalled, that were sent to Caleb. 
Nellie, who had been up to her old home for Grandma 
to fit a dress for the boy, was found by Caleb upon his 
return from town, red-eyed from weeping. She brave- 
ly smiled, and at first tried to turn aside the question, 
as her husband put his arm about her and asked the 
cause of her sorrow. But finally looking up squarely 
she said, “Caleb, I have never kept anything from you 
— you have read my heart, and it must always be so be- 
tween us. Father has sent you a bitter message. He 
says that if you take any of these ^holiness’ into your 
home, his home is forever closed to you.” And the 
poor girl hid her face upon the man’s shoulder and 
again sobbed. 


94 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


“ ‘I come not to bring peace but a sword’ ; ^ A man’s 
foes shall be they of his own household,’ ” quoted 
Caleb to himself. “Nellie, this is your home; whoever 
crosses this threshold, comes as your guest. It shall 
be as you say.” 

“Husband,” replied Nellie quietly, but with a great 
light shining in her eyes, “We are going together; my 
people shall be your people, and my God is your God.” 

For a time the home of Caleb and Nellie Wain- 
wright was the home of the Kentucky preacher and 
two others of his accompanying workers. 

I have said that it was a hostile community which 
appeared before the “second blessing” preacher, and 
this was true in the larger sense, but not all who came 
to that first service came as enemies; not all were 
moved by curiosity alone — there were those who, loving 
God, and having confidence in the religious life of 
George Farris and Caleb AFainwright, came with open 
minds and receptive hearts. 

The old warehouse was filled. Even the long, rough 
bench which had been placed across the room in front 
of the preacher’s stand for an “altar,” was for the time 
utilized by the hearers. 

Before the service* began, George Farris, with a 
smiling face, from which a strange light beamed, 
made his way up toward the front. As he passed there 
spread from lip to lip the whispered word, “Did you 
hear? The directors have locked the doors of the 
school against the teacher. They say he’s gone crazy. 
They may take him to the county seat to be tried.” 


CHAPTER X 


AND GOD CAME DOWN UPON THE MOUNT 

A hush fell upon the crowd in the hall as Farris, 
reaching the preacher’s stand at the front, held up his 
hand. 

“My friends,” he began, “you all know that when I 
came to this place I was not a professing Christian. 
Although reared by good Baptist parents, I had never 
given my heart to God ; never had known that radical 
change which makes one the child of God. Many of 
you have heard that out at the arbor meeting, after the 
last service, with no one near but my friend Wain- 
wright, I was truly born from above. I think the 
most of you will be willing to testify that my life has 
been, at least in a degree, fruitful as a Christian. 

“But now I want to testify to you that it was not 
long after I became a Christian before I was surprised 
to find something ugly in the way of impatience, of 
temper, that would on occasion suddenly betray me 
into acts un-Christlike, and for which I had to repent 
with tears. 

“After Elder Kirkland’s sermon on the Second 
Blessing I chanced upon an old volume of sermons by 
a Baptist divine in which was one address on the Rest 
of Faith. It pictured my religious experience, and 

95 


1)6 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


laid my trouble at the door of an evil principle which 
even converted children of God carry within. From 
this hindering obstruction to a perfect heart service, 
the writer declared there was deliverance and perfect 
rest through faith in the cleansing blood of Jesus 
Christ. 

‘‘I began to search my Bible, and was more and 
more confirmed in my hope that there might be a 
deeper, completer work of divine grace for my life 
than I had known. When I heard that these brethren 
were holding a meeting at Valley Mills, and that 
scores of Christians were really entering into this Rest 
of Faith, I determined to spend my vacation there, 
and hear and see for myself. 

‘‘I went with an honest, hungry heart to be filled 
with God. I heard; I believed; I emptied myself of 
self; God came in as a cleansing flood, and filled me 
with Himself. I then determined that you, too, dear 
ones, some of whom I have had the blessed privilege 
of leading to Christ, should know the victory of a life 
sanctified and cleansed by the blood of Jesus, Avho suf- 
fered without the gate for the church.” 

As the school teacher sat down, the Kentucky 
preacher, a dignified, scholarly man, a man whose 
presence would have graced the Senate of the Nation, 
arose and asked that all of the audience who would, 
kneel with him in prayer. While the language of the 
petition was choice, it was simple, and the thing that 
struck the hearers was a sense of being in the presence 
of one who was speaking face to face with God. One 



The speaker stopped, swayed, and sank in a heap upon the floor. 

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And God Came Down Upon the Mount 


1)7 


almost expected to hear the audible voice of the Al- 
mighty in reply granting the request. There was a 
hush almost as of fear upon the people. 

There were perhaps a dozen workers with the 
preacher, some of whom were among those who, like 
George Farris, professed to have received the grace 
of entire sanctification at the Valley Mills meeting. 
It was a custom among these people to take with them 
from one meeting to the next a few of the converts of 
that meeting to begin their work for the Master. “For 
all the people had a mind to work.” 

If the opening prayer of the preacher was out of 
the ordinary, the song service which followed was more 
so. There were no droning, dragging tunes, but crisp, 
bright, breezy choruses, proclaiming the efficacy of the 
blood to cleanse from all sin, and filled with praise. 
There was a spontaneity, almost hilarity, in the sing- 
ing that was contagious. Before they were aware, a 
large part of the congregation was joining with a 
hearty voice. 

Following the unusual prayer and unusual singing 
came a short period for testimony. There was no 
urging by the leader — he called it “giving an oppor- 
tunity” — but several springing to their feet at once, 
each of the workers in turn gave praise to God for a 
heart made clean in the blood of the Lamb ; for salva- 
tion from all sin; for being kept that day in perfect 
love. 

Some there were who spoke more at length, of a 
life redeemed from the depths of sin; of strong bars 


98 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


of evil habits broken, and themselves set free. If there 
was boasting in the testimonies, it was in the Lord who 
had delivered and blessed and kept. 

It had been a not uncommon occurrence to hear some 
old grandmother shout at the summer big meeting ; but 
here, in the middle of the winter, was a band of people 
with shining faces, who could hardly speak for laugh- 
ing or crying with joy^ and whose conduct of worship 
was with such freedom that many of the audience, un- 
used to freedom in things religious, looked upon it as 
license. 

The leader invited all who loved God to take part 
in this service of praise, but the profession of the 
workers seemed to throw a constraint over those who, 
though really saved, knew not this fuller experience. 
x\t length Caleb Wainwright arose and said, 

“I do not understand about this experience, testi- 
fied to by my friend Farris and these other brethren, 
but I am glad to say that I know Jesus Christ in the 
salvation of my soul. I love my Lord, and I want to 
have my part in this meeting in helping others to find 
Him.” ‘ 

He was then followed by several of the young 
Christians and converts of the Baptist meeting, who 
testified, though often with faltering voice, that they 
belonged to Christ. 

The preacher arose and took as his text: “Be ye 
holy.” 

It is not the intention of the writer to insert here a 
sermon on the subject of holiness — this is not a book 


And God Came Down Upon the Mount 


90 


of polemics, but simply a narrative. After a short re- 
counting of his own experience, the preacher began his 
sermon saying, “My text is the command of God; it 
is for you to say whether you are willing to obey that 
command.” 

He traced the story of the fall, and the entailment 
of a sinful condition upon the race. He said that the 
world is sick with sin, and unable in that condition 
to do the will of God. Holiness, that which God de- 
manded, was, he said, no more and no less than health 
— soul health, and that was the thing which God of- 
fered. No thoughtful, sane man would oppose being 
made well. 

Holiness, he declared, was the standard of business. 
It was demanded by and of every merchant in Crock- 
ett City. Holiness said that a man must be honest — 
the merchant agreed : the buyer must pay his account ; 
and, on the other side, the dealer must give 16 ounces 
for a pound and 36 inches for a yard. Holiness de- 
manded truthfulness — let some one intimate that one 
of you men is not holy in that regard, and see what 
happens. Holiness is purity — was there a husband, 
father, or brother present who would allow anything 
less in the attitude of anyone toward his wife, mother 
or sister? Down through the various relations of life 
the preacher proceeded, showing the reasonableness of 
this demand of God that men should be holy. 

He took up the Bible and shoAved that this com- 
mand of God was the standard of the book throughout. 
He brought forAvard the hymnology and the creeds of 


100 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


the different churches, giving their agreement to this 
standard. 

But why was it, asked the preacher, that all men 
do not at once become holy as soon as they know the 
will of God? This opened up the discussion of the 
frincifle of sin, the “carnal mind.” “That thing in 
you,” said the preacher to his hearers, “that is just 
now urging objections to the pleading of the Spirit of 
God for permission to cleanse 5mur heart and fill it 
with perfect love, which is holiness.” 

The speaker closed with an appeal for all present 
who desired to serve God with a perfect heart, and had 
felt that hidden hindrance within, to come forward 
and seek deliverance. To the astonishment of the 
audience, and the nine days wonder of the community 
afterwards, a dozen or more of the most spiritual 
church members in the town quickly responded, and 
kneeling at the rough bench in front of the preacher’s 
stand, lifted their eyes and hands and voices to the 
God who had given them spiritual life, and He an- 
swering, gave them life more abundant. He had 
washed them with the water of regeneration, but now 
“purged away their dross and tin,” as they were 
baptized with the baptism of Jesus, promised by John, 
the baptism with the Holy Ghost and fire, unto holi- 
ness. 

While the first fruits of the meeting were from 
among the best people of both churches, yet, as the 
services continued, many of the unconverted were 


And God Game Down Upon the Mount 


101 


brought to the altar confessing their sins, and arose to 
a changed life. 

There was a freedom and a joyoiisness about the 
meeting that was well-nigh irresistible. As the preach- 
er presented the reasonableness of a wholehearted 
service to God, and the tender love of Jesus to take 
from the heart of His children the thing which hin- 
dered them from living lives of constant victory, be- 
fore one week had passed nearly all of the young peo- 
ple who had been converted during the prayermeet- 
ings, had come to the altar seeking to have their 
hearts cleansed and made perfect in love. 

In every home in the town and surrounding com- 
munity the meeting and the doctrine of holiness be- 
came the subject of discussion. Bibles long unused 
were brought out, many, like the good Bereans, search- 
ing to find if the gracious words of the preacher were 
really so. 

Praying bands from among the newly-sanctified 
and 'converted went out into the homes, and meetings 
for short services were held in several of the business 
houses. While it was true that there were those who 
still bitterly opposed the meetings, and were unspar- 
ing in their condemnation of the preachers and those 
who associated with them — some parents going so far 
as to turn from home a son or daughter who had found 
Christ in the pardon of sins at the “second blessing” 
meeting — yet in the community as a whole there was 
an increasing spirit favorable to the work and the 
workers. 


102 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


As the wrong impressions concerning the teaching 
were corrected, and the humble, joyous spirit and ferv- 
ent piety of the workers, and marked change in the 
lives of the converts, became facts not to be denied, 
confidence grew, the influence of the meeting spread, 
and marvels were done in the name of the Lord. 

To none of those who were out of sympathy with 
the meeting at its beginning was the trend of affairs 
now more apparant, than to Elder Kirkland. Many 
of his best members had professed the “second bless- 
ing,” and not a few of the Baptists and of the Cum- 
ber lands from the country. Why might not the pres- 
ent tide of religious interest be taken advantage of, 
and be directed into the safe and sane channels of his 
own church? 

Tt was at the Saturday night service that the con- 
gregation in the warehouse, after the song and prayer 
service had been running for a time, were surprised 
almost into breathlessness to see this pastor arise, and 
addressing the preacher, ask permission to “say a 
word.” 

“Certainly, my brother,” responded the leader, 
“Come forward to the platform.” 

Elder Kirkland made his way up to the front, smil- 
ing, and after shaking hands with the preacher, turned 
to the audience. 

“My brethren in Christ,” he began, “you will re- 
member that I preached to you not long ago at my 
church on the subject of holiness, of sanctification, and 
told you that I believed in the doctrine. It is, as I 


And God Came Down Upon the Mount 


103 


said, a doctrine of our church. I have this experience 
that you are telling about, but, like the most of our 
bishops, I got it when I was converted. However, the 
time is not an important matter; it is the thing it- 
self that counts. But what I came to say was this: 
God should be worshiped in His sanctuary. It is al- 
most a sacrilege to have a religious meeting in such a 
place as this. I want you all to come over and go right 
on in my church. Of course, I don’t believe in fanat- 
icism, and have guarded and shall guard my people 
against it; but from what I hear your preacher has 
kept well within the standards. I am sorry that I was 
so busy that it would have been impossible for me to 
attend the meetings, when Brother Wainwright asked 
for our church, or we might have begun there. Now 
tomorrow is Sunday, and we’ll just pack up and go 
over to my church, and go right on with the meeting. 
I want you people to understand that I believe in the 
right kind of holiness. I am sanctified as much as 

any of you. I am, myself, a Holy Ghost preacher ” 

The speaker stopped, swayed, and sank in a heap 
upon the floor. 


CPIAPTEK XI 


IN THE DAY OF MIRACLES 

As the man fell, a groan of horror arose from the 
congregation — in a moment there would have been a 
panic, but the leader of the meeting, holding up his 
hand, spoke in a voice compelling by its tone of as- 
surance as well as authority, “Keep your seats; it is 
nothing serious. If there is a physician present, I 
would ask him to come forward and assure the peo- 
ple.” 

A young doctor, recently arrived in town, arose 
and quickly making an examination of the uncon- 
scious preacher, announced, “The pulse and respiration 
are not far from normal, and there seems to be no im- 
mediate danger. I should say it is a case of hypnotic 
catalepsy?'' 

The preacher smiled. “It is the hand of God.” In 
a few sentences he explained that the condition was 
a not unusual one with persons under great spiritual 
conviction. He had known many to lie in that way for 
hours, unconscious to all about them, but with God 
consciously dealing with their souls. Usually, the 
preacher added, the result was a happy surrender to 
the will of God, but sometimes, said he sadly, the one 
104 


In the Day of Miracles 


105 


came back to walk in deeper spiritual darkness than he 
had before known. 

The services and sermon proceeded with the preach- 
er lying unconscious upon the floor, though arranged 
in comfortable position. It was during the altar serv- 
ice, when the workers were busy with a score of seek- 
ers, that the stricken man came to himself, almost un- 
noticed, walked to a seat, and a few moments after left 
the building without saying a word. 

The following Monday was, for Caleb Wainwright, 
a day (of which more were to follow) when he seemed 
like Abraham of old to be entering into the horror 
of a great darkness. Upon this pretext and that, first 
one and then another of the business men of the town 
— until few who had been patrons of Caleb’s paper 
remained — withdrew their patronage, either in per- 
son or by letter. Some expressed reluctance, and hoped 
that matters might be arranged soon so that they 
could resume, but not until nearly night did the editor 
locate the moving hand of the boycott. 

The little, old, Irish shoemaker came in on his way 
home, and hesitatingly said to Caleb, “Well, Misther 
Wainw^right, ye’ll have t’ be takin’ me ad out av yer 
pa-aper. Ave it hadn’t bin me owin’ Rube Dorman 
fer that owld bill o’ leather, I’d seen him — seen him 
furder afore I’d a-gone back on yer, Misther Wain- 
wright. Ye’ve alluz bin the gintleman, sor, which 
same I can’t be sayin’ fer Dorman. Bad ’cess til 
him.” 

So it was Dorman, Nellie’s father, who was show- 


106 


Cai.eb OF THE Hill Country 


ing his power to make or break to his will. He would 
compel Caleb to give up his fight on the saloons, and 
now he would punish him for giving his sanction to 
the holiness meetings. His heart burned hot within 
him. Well, if he had to fight Dorman as well as the 
saloons, he would fight Dorman — and the rest of the 
town with him, lyut he would not turn from his pur- 
pose. 

That night Caleb excused himself to the preach- 
ers, and he and Nellie remained at home. Again it 
was the wise, faithful, tender wife who gathered this 
strong, wilful man into her arms, and, as a mother 
brings peace to a hurt and rebellious child, she calmed 
the tempest in the heart of her husband. 

“Caleb,” said she, as anger and despair fought for 
his soul, “have you forgotten that you are a child of 
God? Do you not believe that He cares; and if He 
cares, will He not see you through ? Are you not con- 
scious that you have done right in trying to save this 
people from the fearful drink curse? And is not God 
truly in this meeting? If you have chosen the right, 
can you not trust the result with God in quietness of 
spirit? Perhaps He has some other work for you 
to do. At least,” she said, smiling through her tears, 
“If you do not have so much to do at the office, you 
will have more time for the meetings. I have wished 
that you might attend regularly — and come to seek 
and receive this great blessing.” 

Although, whenever Caleb had attended the meet- 
ing, he had taken part in the work of soul-saving. 


In the Day of Miracles 


107 


yet he had made no move to seek that perfect rest his 
soul so much needed, and into which so many were en- 
tering with joy unspeakable. During the time in 
which the meeting was held, his mind and heart were 
crowded so full of the affairs of this life — not things 
of evil, but things of themselves good — that this blessed 
gospel failed to get down into his consciousness. The 
boycott that had come upon him through the evil in- 
fluence of his father-in-law, and consequent disar- 
rangement of his printing business, weighed heavily 
upon him, notwithstanding his faith in God. Then 
there were the necessary preparations to be made for 
the shipping season, entailing much correspondence. 
Not less than the other crowding duties was his in- 
terest in the fight against the saloon, which not for an 
hour did he relax, and which called for frequent ab- 
sences from home. Thus it frequently is that the 
good, though secondary, things of life often crowd in 
at the very time when God is offering man His very 
best. 

In after years it became a great wonder to Caleb 
that he had not been the first to respond to the altar 
call of the Kentucky preacher, and seek that blessing; 
that the depths of his being had not been reached — 
the granite fastness of his imperious self-will had not 
been broken up. How blessed it is that God deals 
patiently, but thoroughly, with those whom He would 
fashion into Plis own image, and with infinite wisdom 
fits His dealings to suit the peculiar nature of each. 

As the meeting swept on, an increasing number of 


108 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


the unconverted were brought to repentance. It 
seemed easy for people to get saved. The crowds 
that came from up the valleys and over the hills, 
brought first by curiosity, were held by the lively 
songs, and the free, happy testimonies. Then, under 
the power of the Holy Spirit, the plain, earnest words 
of the preacher got hold of the hearts of men and 
women who could only pray, ‘*God be merciful to me 
a sinner”; but these went home justified. 

All over that hill country, for the first time in that 
generation, in the rude cabins men sat, morning and 
night, before the light of the open fireplace, slowly, 
painfull}^, with toil-disfigured finger tracing out the 
words of some easy verse of the Bible, while the chil- 
dren stood about in awed silence at the strange doings 
since “pap got religion.” 

To be sure, the old warehouse lacked the air of 
sanctity we all associate with a church, yet it is prob- 
able that there were scores who came and heard, and 
stayed to find God in that rough hall, who would not 
have been induced to come into a church building. 

Certainly it was one of this class who stood at the 
open doors on a night of which I write. For nearly 
two months the services had run, and late February 
was bringing its promise of spring. Daily Old Man 
Mason had passed the hall, and jeered and scoffed and 
reviled, as he beheld the thronging crowds. For 
thirty-eight years his foot had not crossed the thresh- 
old of a church, in accordance with the vow he had 
made in that black hour when he had cursed God. 


In the Day of Miracles 


109 


This night he had not been drinking — he was walking 
out home sober, and from some strange cause his 
mind was full of the scenes of his youthful days, days 

before . He was opposite the old hall when he 

seemed to come to himself. Within, the audience was 
singing : 


Be of sin the double cure, 

Save from wrath and make me pure. 

A pain like the sting of an arrow seemed to pierce his 
heart. “The song she sang when .” Scarcely con- 

scious of what he was doing, he stepped to the open 
door where he could hear more easily. The crowd of 
late comers from the country pressed behind, and he 
found himself standing within the building. “Well,” 
thought he, “it’s not a church, anyway.” 

The preacher’s subject was the blood of Jesus — 
its power to cancel the sins of a lifetime, and restore 
the soul to health and purity in the sight of God. No 
matter how deep sin had gone, said the preacher, the 
blood cure went deeper; no matter how strong the 
bands of appetite and habit which bound their vic- 
tim, the love of Jesus was able to set completely free. 

Old Man Mason stood and listened— listened to 
the proclamation of the true gospel as he had not 
since the days of his young manhood. Was it true? 
Was there any such love in the universe? and could 
it be that it was for him? A strange trembling 
seized him, and he turned toward the door as though 
he would leave the house, but his feet would not 


110 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


move. The fragrance of honeysuckle blossoms came 
with thronging memories. She had worn them in her 
hair! Ah, he had been a good man then, but 

Someone was taking him by the hands — his hands 
as cold as the hands of death — and speaking his name. 
Was it she — had she come back to plead with him 
again as she had before ? 

We say things “happen,” and we wonder. But He 
who formed the limitless expanse of worlds, also 
fashioned the delicate beauty of the shell no larger 
than the grain of sand. His thought becomes the 
thought of men, and things come to pass. 

Nellie Wainwright did not know why she stopped 
to break a spray of honeysuckle for her hair, as she 
passed on her way to church; she did not know why 
she turned that moment in the hall, and looked back 
toward the door; she did not know why she made 
her way to the town terror, the vile drunkard and 
blasphemer, and take him by the hand and urge him 
to come with her and seek Christ at the mourner’s 
bench. She did not know, but God knew, and had 
His hand upon two lives. To Old Man Mason was 
opening the door of opportunity for the last time. 

It seemed to the old man that he was suffocating, 
drowning, sinking into a fathomless abyss, and the 
slender hand that was reached out to him was his 
only hope of escape. A mighty cry was wrung from 
the very depths of his soul, “My God, save me!” 
The old sin-battered hulk was stretched prostrate at 
the altar. 


In the Day of Miracles 


111 


The audience arose almost as by one impulse ; 
those in the rear of the house climbing upon the seats 
the better to see. Old Man Mason, the bad man of 
the hill country, was at the mourner’s bench, and he 
was fraying! Others, with terror depicted upon 
their faces, were easily persuaded by the workers to 
go forward as seekers. God had made a breech in 
the stronghold of the enemy. 

It is the fashion to decry emotionalism in matters 
pertaining to religion. The reason is that men will 
not feel. To be as dead men regarding the actualities 
of the religion of Jesus Christ is the only escape they 
have from the burning lashings of the voice of God 
within. Here are Satan’s inclines in the Broad Road, 
and somewhere along the way, ‘^breaking the speed 
record,” may be found the apostate church : 

The days of miracles are fast— No miracles 
in the Bible — No sufernatural in religion — No 
Virgin birth — Jesus a mere man — No atoning 
Savior — No sin — No hell — No heaven — No God. 

We dare say that this blindness — the blindness of 
outer darkness — has come upon the church as it 
closed its eyes to the greatest miracle ever wrought 
by the almighty power of God; a miracle so great 
that beside which the walking upon a rolling sea is a 
trivial thing, and the giving of sight to one born 
blind scarce worthy of mention ; this miracle, the com- 
passing of which was placed in the hands of the church 


112 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


— the miracle of a sinner changed in the twinkling of 
an eye into a child of God. 

That a life debauched, degraded, defiled and de- 
moralized by sin, until it has well-nigh lost its sem- 
blance to humanity, can, in a moment, be so radically 
changed as to be fitly described by no other term than 
a new birth, no one can call less than the greatest of 
miracles. Scoffers and the blind can but deny the 
change. 

In that church at whose altars the drunkard is 
transformed into a sober citizen ; the thief to a man 
whose honesty is to be trusted in the test; the liar to 
one whose word is yea and nay; the profane blas- 
phemer to a singer of the praises of God; the proud 
self-lover to a humble servant of poverty and sorrow ; 
the harlot of the street to the white-souled saint in the 
home — I say in that church where this miracle is being 
wrought, there is no blasting at the Eock of Ages, no 
doubting of the most patent facts of human experience, 
no turning aw^ay from the living God to believe a lie 
and be forever damned. 

The miracle of Jesus Christ was wrought again in 
that old hall. The blasphemer, the drunkard, the 
gambler. Old Man Mason, stretched out a timid, trem- 
bling hand in his darkness, and it touched the hem of 
the garment of the Crucified. The dead man w^as made 
alive. The old became ne’w. Shackles of years fell 
from the bound soul. The insanity of sin was healed, 
and he was clothed in his right mind. With the 
tears still coursing down the scarred old cheeks, the 



She made her way to the town terror, the vile drunkard and 
blasphemer, and urged him to seek Christ. [Page 110] 



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In the Day of Miracles 


113 


stamp of heaven was put upon the upturned face — it 
glowed; the horror of the ugliness of evil gave place 
to the beauty of the peace of God. Old Man Mason 
was saved. 

Out in the street one running by gave the cry of 
“fire,” but few heard and none heeded. Others at the 
altar were getting victory, and it seemed that half 
the audience were crying and shouting and praising 
God. Old Man Mason had his arms about Wain- 
wright, who had been kneeling at his side, and was 
beating him in the back in the boisterousness of over- 
flowing joy. Nellie was standing near quietly crying, 
but with the happiness of the skies shining from her 
countenance. The hour was late, and Caleb, placing 
his wife in the care of faithful old Uncle Zeke to see 
safely home, returned to the aid of those who still 
needed help at the altar. 


CHAPTEE XII 


THE STORM IN THE HILLS 

The workers were again upon their knees at the 
long altar, for the freshly anointed eyes of Old Man 
Mason had caught sight of Dan House in the back of 
the room, and to this former companion of his drink- 
ing and gambling bouts, he had crowded his way. Dan 
had tried to escape to the door, as he saw his old part- 
ner in sin coming toward him, but white-faced and 
trembling still, through the miracle he had witnessed, 
he was slow to move, and in a moment the old man 
had him by his ice-cold hands literally compelling him 
to go forward to the mourneris bench. Here Dan had 
found his voice, and was adding a broken petition to 
Old Man Mason’s cries for God to “do for this poor 
man what You’ve done for me.” 

The first cry of “fire” coming in on the night 
breeze through the open windows, if heard at all by 
the people in the old hall, was not taken seriously, nor 
heeded, as too many times had disturbances been raised 
in the streets to divert attention from the work of the 
meeting inside. But again came the cry, “Fire, fire!” 
and a red glare lit up the cloud-covered sky. The 
seekers of curiosity near the door rushed out shouting, 
but the body of the congregation, rising from their 
114 


The Storm in the Hills 


115 


knees, were quietly dismissed with a benediction by 
the leader, and passed out without disorder. 

“It’s Eube Dorman’s big store,” called one to an- 
other as they ran. 

“Seem’s like it’s a right smart piece beyond,” was 
the response. “You can see the outline of the store — 
it’s the printing office !” 

For a moment Caleb’s heart stood still. Had the 
threats of the saloon men at last been made good ? Or, 
could it be that Dorman’s bitterness would take that 
form of injuring his son-in-law? No. The latter 
thought Caleb put away as soon as it came. Eube Dor- 
man might scheme to take a man’s property from him, 
but never would he destroy property. Besides, the fire 
was close enough to be a serious menace to the big 
store itself. But the saloon men — no; he remembered 
that he had noticed both Bud Slavin and SatterAvhite 
standing within the door, at the meeting, when the 
alarm was given. 

Crockett City’s fire department consisted of volun- 
teers carrying each his own bucket, with a relay of 
strong-armed men at the deep-well pump, and, hurry 
as they might, and work as faithfully as they could, 
it was only through the slight veering of the strong 
wind which had risen that the big store was saved from 
the blaze of the doomed printing office. 

Caleb reached his building before its walls had 
fallen, and in striving to get to a window in the rear, 
had caught one foot in something as he ran, and, stum- 
bled, almost falling. Without thought or reason, he 


116 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


had picked the thing up and carried it along in his 
hand. Now, as he stood gazing down at the glowing 
embers, and the twisted steel of his office machinery, 
his glance fell upon that which his hand carried — a 
hat, such as cowboys use — ^^an old, broad-brim, white 
hat, encircled by a band of ornamented leather. 

Like a flash came recognition — it was the hat of 
Colonel Porterfield. How came it there? Where was 
the Colonel? Quietly he put the hat beneath his coat 
— it might be able to tell the story his stunned mind 
was striving to know. 

As he slowly turned his steps homeward, the storm, 
which had been threatening since sundown, broke. 

Did the reader ever witness a tempest in the hills? 
Nowhere else, save where the Kuler of the sea builds 
mountains of the plastic deep, is there a sight, a sound, 
an experience so glorious, so majestic, so awful, so 
swelling with nature’s contempt of man with his puny 
works, as is seen in a storm in the hills. Here, when 
the valley-dweller lifts his eyes heavenAvard, he be- 
holds cloud wreaths Avrapping the summits, while zig- 
zag flashes play from peak to peak, spelling their 
wireless warning to earth. Here, when the storm 
swings low, and the heavens utter their mighty voice, 
each pinnacle, crag, and precipice seems to raise its head, 
and, adding aAvful note to note, joins in the majestic 
chorus, which the echoes, roused from sloping hill- 
sides and hidden glens, hasten to carry to the startled 
A^alley below. Here, the wind complaining in the tree- 
tops, rises at length to crash and roar, and, as upon 


The Storisi in the Hills 


117 


the black wings of chaos, swoop through pass and 
gulch to beat down, to grind and tear, to pluck up and 
bear away. Here the rain, gently falling upon the 
leaves, springs into lively tatto — impatient drummer 
calling an host to arms; then, blending into one with 
earth and air and sl^, leaps down the hillsides in ranks 
of all-enveloping billows to meet in the rocky channel 
of the trickling streamlet as a rushing wall bearing 
havoc upon its bosom. 

Fortunately for Caleb Wainwright there were no 
ravines for him to cross that night, for, though tossed 
and beaten by the elements, the storm within his own 
soul so possessed him that he made his way as one who 
walks in a dream. But like the sleep-walker, he 
walked true, and at the end of a seeming eternity of 
buffeting and drowning, a white-faced wife opened to 
him the door of his home. 

There was no sleep in the little cottage on the hill- 
side during the hours that remained of that stormy 
night, but a pouring out of heart to heart by husband 
and wife; of courage given and hope revived; of tar- 
rying before the Lord until the return of the vision. 

‘T was desperate, Nellie,” said Caleb, “as I looked 
down into the ruins at the fire. It seemed as though 
all I had seen of hope for this people and country, all 
of the toil and struggle of these years to lift them 
from ignorance and poverty and evil ways, lay there 
in ashes. I have convinced the outside world of the 
splendid possibilities that lie waiting development in 
this hill country, and many of our own people have 


118 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


already started upon the road to prosperity: I have 
transformed the town from its squalor to a beginning, 
at least, of self-respect; I have induced new industries 
and business houses to come here; I had awakened 
many of the parents from their lethargy and indif- 
ference to education, and our school was becoming a 
blessing to the children. Now, what is my reward? 
Our pastor has turned against us, the school is closed. 
Father Dorman has persuaded and frightened the oth- 
er merchants, who really owe to me their business suc- 
cess, to withdraw their support from the paper, and 
now, tonight, a heap of blackened embers and twisted 
iron is the last word of this people to me. Wife, I 
fear that I had murder in my heart tonight; I hated 
with a bitter hatred.” 

“Caleb,” said Nellie, “do you not recall Another 
whose hands were pierced as they were extended to 
bless, and wdiose side was riven as lie hung help- 
less? Was there hatred in His heart then, or cursing? 
or, can you say that His life had failed?” 

“No, no, Nellie!” responded Caleb, “anything but 
that. I failed, but not He.” 

“Neither will you fail, my husband,” assured the 
wife. “Nor have you failed. The awakening you have 
brought and the good you have wrought, will remain, 
and will grow. The vision is not lost — only obscured 
for a little while by the mists which will roll away. 
And can you even now regret the help you have given 
to get the meeting up at the hall, though our pastor is 
displeased? Is not the salvation of Old Man Mason 


The Storm in the Hills 


119 


and Dan House, to say nothing of the others, reward 
enough for every slight and every distress you have 
suffered?” 

“Yes, Nellie, yes,” responded Caleb. “I know that 
I am a Christian, yet how is it I fail to retain in my 
heart, in times of stress, the spirit of Christ? Tonight, 
as I staggered home, it seemed as though the devil him- 
self was within me. God help me.” 

“He will, Caleb, He will. We have our little fruit 
farm coming into bearing, and that will supply all our 
needs. We can wait upon God’s direction for the next 
step forward.” 

As the day broke, and the sun arose, the mists 
parting let in the shining glory as of a new creation to 
fall upon the hills. 

The little family were sitting down to their late 
breakfast, when the outer door opened upon them, and 
Hetty Porterfield, a most forlorn figure, stood within. 
Her hair was hanging loose from her bared head ; her 
skirts wet and muddy to the waist. 

“I waded the branch,” she explained in answer 
to their wondering glance. “The water’s gone down a 
heap, but it’s high yet. But, oh. Brother Wainwright, 
where’s daddy? I cain’t find him. I been waiting for 
him all night, and the wind shook the house so. I 
reckoned he might stop with some of you-all after 
meeting, the storm came up so quick and so hard. I 
have been over to Bud’s house, and Bud says daddy 
went home before the storm — but he never. And — and 
— I’m afeared,” the girl sobbed out. 


120 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


‘‘Now, Hetty,” kindly spoke Caleb, ^‘Nellie here will 
get you some dry clothing, and after a bit some warm 
breakfast, and I’ll see about your daddy. Don’t you be 
afraid any more.” But as he remembered the hat 
he had found at the burning building, his own heart 
feared. 

Caleb made his way over the wreck of the storm 
to the little town, where a knot of men in front of the 
saloon were exchanging experiences of the night, and 
speculating upon the fire, and reported disappearance 
of Colonel Porterfield. As he approached the group 
a silence fell upon them, and Caleb felt a peculiar 
sensation as if they shrank from him. 

He accosted the saloon keeper: “Bud, this is a time 
for the truth, and I want it from you.” Slavin stiff- 
ened and drew himself back. There were some ques- 
tions he had expected from Caleb, to which he was 
not ready to give an answer. But it was not his own 
loss that was filling the mind of Wainwright at that 
time; it was the grief of the pathetic figure in his 
home, calling for her daddy. 

“Was Colonel Porterfield sober when he started for 
home last night?” 

The relief of the saloon keeper was almost audible. 
“Sure ! Yes. Didn’t you holy folks convert him over 
at the hall, and get him to quit the ‘poison stuff’?” 

“Well,” responded Caleb, “his little girl is down at 
my house, crying out her heart, and I’m going to find 
him. He may have been hurt in the storm by some 
flying limb.” 



One hand with the clutch of death held fast to a half-emptied 

whisky flask. {Page 122] 








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The Storm in the Hills 


121 


Three or four of the men offered to go with him. 
A mile from town they came to where a narrow^ lane 
branched from the main road, dropping down through 
the forest of red-oak, pecan, and bitter hickory, to the 
cottonwood trees lining the banks of Big Sandy. 

“If the Colonel was sober, he would keep to the 
big road at night,” spoke up one of the men. “If 
he had been drinking, his pinto might be likely to take 
its own way down across lots.” 

“We’ll try the lane first,” decided Caleb, remem- 
bering the broadbrim hat. 

All traces of travel had been obliterated by the 
storm, and in several places the track was washed into 
deep gullies which made passage difficult for even the 
horsemen in the narrow lane. Both sides of the road 
were closely inspected, and where great limbs, twisted 
from trees, had been flung across the track, the wreck- 
age would be lifted and cleared away — but no sign 
was there found of the missing man. 

Big Sandy, now a quiet, knee-deep stream, whose 
banks, however, were strewn to a height of twenty 
feet with drift, was crossed, and the searchers rode 
on to the little cabin in the field beyond. Nothing there 
rewarded their search. The men were for going back 
to the towm by the easier route of the big road, but 
Caleb was not satisfied to abandon the search. Some- 
thing seemed to tell him that the pinto had had its 
way in the storm. As they again approached the 
stream, a great stack of driftwood against a wire fence 
which crossed the creek some rods below, held the at- 


122 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


tention of Caleb, and he said, “Men, I’m going to dig 
into that pile down there against the fence.” 

There their search ended. With threadbare coat 
twisted fast in the wires, fouled with the muck of the 
flood, a white face stared out with piteous, frightened 
open eyes at things beyond the ken of mortals. One 
hand, with the clutch of death, held fast to a half- 
emptied whiskey flask. 

The liquor demon had scored again. Almost from 
the very altar of God had the servants of the foul 
fiend enticed the old man in his weakness to his eternal 
undoing. 

Alas! for the human driftwood cast up by the 
storm of sin upon the shores of eternity. 

Malcomb Porterfield was born in a home of wealth, 
back in the old state. The advantages of refinement 
and culture were his, yet, lacking the parental re- 
straints which go to develop true character, he grew 
up to have his own way, and from his youth gave free 
rein to his appetites and jiassions. At twenty-three 
years of age he was a dashing cavalry officer; retiring 
from the service at thirty a confirmed drunkard. Thir- 
ty years later found his broken-hearted wife in her 
grave, his only child and daughter despoiled of all that 
woman holds sacred, and himself a broken creature 
without character or will, a fawning beggar for the 
fav6rs of the saloon, and now, a part of the foul dirt 
cast up by the storm. 

What a reckoning shall come some day for those 
who trend young lives away from God, or who, refus- 


The Storm in the Hills 


123 


ing the responsibilities of parenthood, turn their chil- 
dren over to the tender mercies of Satan. 

The how of the fire at the printing office was set- 
tled in the mind of Caleb Wainwright, but why the 
Colonel, whom he had befriended, and who once before 
had risked his life to befriend Caleb ? Whose was the 
will that had moved the trembling hand and clouded 
brain of this dead man, as he entered his last account 
in the Books above? 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE STRONGHOLD OF THE AN AKIMS 

In the days of the early spring, when Caleb Wain- 
wright was away from Crockett City much of the time, 
preparing for his final contest with the liquor forces 
before the county court, some things of importance 
occurred. The meeting which had run for nearly three 
months, closed, with the departure of the Kentucky 
preacher. His advice had been for those who had en- 
tered into the experience of holiness to stand true to 
God in their respective churches, and to humbly, but 
clearly and boldly, testify to what He had done for 
them, on all suitable occasions. 

This they essayed to do, but it soon became evident 
that they were not to be allowed to testify in their 
own churches. AYhile it was undoubtedly true that the 
yery best, most spiritual of the membership of the 
three churches were among those who now professed 
the “second blessing,” in each church the line was 
sharply drawn on the testimony and experience of holi- 
ness. In two of the churches the opportunity was 
given to recant before expulsion, or Avithdrawal of fel- 
lowship, but Pastor Kirkland, with the knowledge of 
his failure at the hall and the coming of conference 
before him, took the radical but efiective step of stamp- 
124 


The Stronghold of the Anakims 


125 


ing out the “heresy” in his church by crossing otf from 
the list of his membership thirty-two names — and Ca- 
leb and Nellie Wainwright were of that number. 

The other churches followed more closely the forms 
of their law, and then, all who admitted a belief in the 
doctrine, found themselves without a church home. 

Necessity — no ! the hand of God preserving His wit- 
nesses for a holy seed in the earth — forced the opening 
again of the old warehouse-hall. There services were 
held three nights in the week, the times chosen to not 
conflict with the hours of service in the other churches 
— so careful were these excommunicated ones to not 
give true cause of offense to the recognized ecclesias- 
tical authorities. Salvation work continued; the Lord 
calling young men from between plowhandles and 
young women from the kitchen to proclaim the ful- 
ness of His salvation. 

The county court had found, upon counting the sig- 
natures, that the petition lacked some twenty names 
of the required number (the sheet containing the hun- 
dred and more names was afterwards found where the 
county clerk had hidden it), and the prohibition elec- 
tion was refused. 

With youth and health and love one may not give 
up in despair. While the heart of Caleb Wainwright 
occasionally flared up in hot resentment against the 
saloon, against Dorman, against Elder Kirkland, 
against the business men of Crockett City who had 
failed to deal justly with him, these dark days were 
few. The mockers and red-birds sang in the trees; 


126 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


the twenty-acre orchard was a mass of pink and white. 
The danger from late frosts having passed, the young 
trees would needs be prevented from bearing a too 
abundant harvest of the red and gold fruit. In the 
meantime, the land would bring forth a succession of 
vegetable crops for the cannery. 

Caleb sang as he worked, and when Nellie and the 
youngster came down, as they often did, to ‘‘help papa 
and Unc’ Zeke,” it was as though Time had swung back 
to the days of the Garden, when all the world was new 
and clean ; when Love was the universal law. 

Into this Eden there came riding one afternoon, a 
Sheriff’s officer from the county seat, who handed to 
Caleb a folded document. Wainwright stopped to pass 
a joking remark to the messenger, before he opened the 
paper, but the man did not smile in return, and seemed 
ill at ease. Caleb looked at the title on the outside: 
“Dorman vs. Wainwright,” and, as one in a dream, 
he read and reread the contents. At last it came to 
him that his father-in-law had entered suit to dispos- 
sess him of his orchard, his farm, his home, upon the 
ground that he had failed to pay either interest or de- 
ferred payments of principal. 

A horse w^as quickly saddled, and word being left 
with Nellie that he was called away on business, and 
might not be back until the following day, Caleb made 
a fast and furious ride to the county seat. 

Judge Worley, the best lawyer of the hill country, 
looked over the paper, and asked Caleb about the pay- 
ments he had made. “You say that you have paid 


The Stronghold of the Anakims 


127 


Dorman the two payments and the interest semi-an- 
nually?” 

‘‘Yes, sir,” answered Caleb stoutly. “That is — ” he 
began, and his face suddenly grew red and then went 
white, “that is, I took the money to him each time, and 
he would always push it back to me and tell me to get 
something for Nellie, or to give it to mj wife.” 

“Did he give you a receipt?” 

“YTiy, no. He was my wife’s father ; it would have- 
seemed like an insult to his kindness to have asked 
for one. In fact, it did not occur to me.” 

“Hm. Business among kin is generally bad busi- 
ness,” growled the old lawyer. “Was there anyone 
else present besides yourself and Dorman at the time 
of these various payments?” 

“I really don’t recall,” responded Caleb. “Mother 
Dorman was about the house, but whether she was tak- 
ing notice of what was said and done, I can’t tell.” 

The old lawyer was silent for a time, then he 
glanced up keenly from under his bushy brows, say- 
ing, “Wainwright, I believe your story, as strange as 
it will seem when told in court, but my advice is that 
we try for a compromise with Dorman. I tell you 
frankly, if he is bent on going through with this suit, 
he’ll probably get your place. Of course. I’ll represent 
you, and we can delay matters for a while.” 

The ride back home was through deep darkness to 
Caleb, and yet he had but entered the garden of his 
Gethsemane. 

Through the hill country there passes, each spring 


128 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


and fall, a straggling procession of cloth-covered 
wagons; jaded, half-starved horses; jaded, half -starved 
women; slouching, shambling men with drooping hat- 
brims; mean looking dogs, slinking beneath the wagons 
dr darting out in sudden foray upon a wayside rabbit ; 
children without number, ragged and dirty, yet in 
whom the divine spark of courage and hope yet glowed. 
It was a procession going, it scarcely kneAv where — 
anywhere to escape the misery of present existence; 
anywhere to get rid of something which, if they could 
have but realized it, is hidden within the human heart 
itself. 

Out from this procession there dropped, one day at 
dusk, a most forlorn outfit. The “old woman was 
right po’ly,” the man said, as he came up into town 
for a little liquor. Having no money, the liquor was 
refused, but Slavin went back with the man to the 
squalid camp to see if there was any of their posses- 
sions which might be converted into cash. 

What the saloon keeper beheld put a fear upon him 
that he had not known in many a day. The poor 
woman lay moaning, unconscious, and upon her pain- 
convulsed features appeared the brown splotches which 
proclaimed the dreaded dengue, “spotted fever,” or, as 
it is known in these days, cereby^o-spmal meningitis. 

Among the citizens of the town who, in the pity of 
Christ came to minister to the dying woman and care 
for the children, was Mrs. Dorman. She it was who 
prepared the poor body for the grave, robed in a dress 
finer than it had ever dreamed of in life. It was she 



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The STitoNGHoLi) of the Anakims 


121) 


who found homes for the children. Then it was on 
the second morning after the burial she failed to arise 
early to prepare the morning meal, as was her wont, 
and a messenger was despatched in haste for Nellie 
Wainwright. 

When Caleb reached home after midnight, he found 
Uncle Zeke taking care of the baby, and he received 
Nellie’s message. How he needed now the comfort, 
the strength he had so often received from his wife 
— but he was alone ! The thought, the word, seemed 
to chill his heart as he passed into Nellie’s room. 
Alon£ — yes, but with God! 

Human friendships and companionships are pre- 
cious; the divine Son of Man Himself prized them. 
The Father intended that through love and sympathy 
we should bear one another’s burdens. This is true; 
yet there come times when the human arm, though ex- 
tended in blessing, is too short ; times when the dearest 
of earthly relations are inadequate; crises in our lives 
when we must be alone with God. 

To Caleb, as he threw himself at the side of his 
bed, it seemed as though the solid earth had dropped 
away from his feet, and the day of final judgment had 
come; that he had been ushered into the all-revealing 
light of the eternal throne, and the Voice had bidden 
him behold his secret, inmost being; to see himself as 
God sees. 

“Were you not a sinner and worthy of death?’’ 

“Yes, Lord.” 

“When you cried for pardon did I not, for the 


Caleb oe the Hill Country 


i;iO 


sake of the shed blood of Jesus, forgive you fully, 
freely?” 

“Yes, Lord.” 

“Do you still desire the forgiveness of your sins?” 

“Oh, yes. Lord; without, I am undone.” 

“Look into your heart; what do you see?” 

“Revenge — hatred of Dorman who has robbed me; 
hatred of Slavin who has injured me and those I love.” 

“If ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will 
your Father forgive your trespasses.” 

“But they became my enemies because I Avas true 
to Thee.” 

“Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do 
good to them that hate you.” 

“My God, I am unable. Make me able.” 

“Look again into that heart. When the fame of 
your Avork for the hill country spread abroad, what 
stirred to life, full-grown there?” 

And the man truthfully (for in that Presence every 
one will confess the truth), answered, “Pride.” 

“Pride lost heaven to Lucifer. Could I let it into 
heaven again?” 

“Look again. Your purpose in the beginning to 
deliA’er the people from the liquor curse was holy; 
what now is the dominating inotiA^e of your fight?” 

“Self-will.” 

“As you recognized your place of growing impor- 
tance in the hill country, Avhat entered your heart as a 
welcome guest?” 

Again the man answered in truth, “Ambition.” 


The Stronghold of the Anakims 


131 


“As you look toward the future, your office de- 
stroyed and your home gone, what face do you see?” 

“The face of fear.” 

“It was the face that Peter saw when he took his 
eyes from My face. Perfect love casts out fear.” 

Not in these words, but after this fashion was it 
that God dealt with Caleb Wainwright, as He un- 
covered the heart of His child who was stretched out 
before Him. 

At last to this man was there discovered the citadel 
of the Anakims, the stronghold where crouched in 
wait the giants Ambition and Pride and Self-will and 
Hatred. In this hour they must be slain by his hand, 
or he himself forfeit life eternal. 

The babe upon the bed stirred, and began to cry for 
attention, yet the father, wffio would have willingly 
given his life for the child, heeded not. The old negro 
crept to the door, peered in, and softly gathering the 
babe in his arms passed out murmuring to himself, 
“Press de Lawd! Reckon Mars Calip settle hit dis 
time fo’ sho’.” 

As Caleb lay there on his face, the way stretched 
out before him. He saw the end of his ambitious 
dreams — dreams just about to turn into realities — of 
occupying a place of high honor among his fellows. 
He saw the hands of others lay hold upon the direction 
of forces he had set in motion for the uplift of the hill 
country, and gather to themselves the rewards, while 
to him there remained the ashes of a rejected and for- 
gotten name. He saw the sundering of friendships. 


132 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


and the falling away from him of those who had gath- 
ered to help him in the fight against the saloon; his 
influence not only come to naught for helpfulness, but 
rather a hindrance to the cause he had espoused. 

He saw his home pass into other hands and Nellie 
and the babe go forth even as beggars. He saw fame 
and fortune and success giving way to obloquy, pov- 
erty, and failure. 

His soul stood alone, stripped, naked. 

Then the vanishing procession seemed to halt, turn- 
ing once again toward him as if waiting, while nearby 
came One like unto the Son of God, and with the Avords 
He had spoken unto Peter, again addressed Caleb. 
“Lovest thou me more than these?” 

So this Avas it; this Avas consecration; this, the 
choice between all his life had held dear — and God. 

Again the Voice seemed to penetrate his being: 
“WhosoeA'er will saA^e his life shall lose it: but who- 
soever will lose his life for my sake, the same shall 
saA^e it. Did I not become of no reputation for your 
sake? Was I not despised and rejected of men? Did 
I not offer myself a willing sacrifice to be slain without 
the camp? Would you refuse to take your place by 
my side? 

“What would these you see passing from your life 
profit you without me ? Am I not able, am I not will- 
ing to take care of mv OAvn cause which you had at 
heart? 

“Have I not loA^ed you, and can you not trust me 
Avith your life? Can you not place your Avork, your 


The Stronghold of the Anakims 


183 


wife and child, your home in my hands, and leave 
them there? 

“Has pride brought you joy? Has your self-will 
borne satisfaction? Can you in revenge against Dor- 
man and Slavin find peace? The way vrhich you had 
planned for your life I have allowed to be closed ; will 
you not let me take your hand and lead you into my 
way for you? 

“You have prayed for deliverance when anger has 
stirred in your heart and tripped you up ; are you will- 
ing that I should have full possession of you to cleanse 
your heart? You have said that you longed to be a 
Bible Christian ; are you willing that I should come in- 
to your being and live m}^ life of sacrifice and service 
out through you? that perfect love should be the mo- 
tive behind every act? 

“I have caused to come before you the testimony of 
your friend George Farris and a score of others — ^you 
are convinced that there remaineth a rest for the peo- 
ple of God ; will you enter in ? 

“Behold, you stand stripped before me — the depart- 
ing procession halts, awaiting your choice — I hold out 
my arms!” 

As the flash of lightning suddenly opens vision in 
the midst of darkness, there came to Caleb an incident 
of his campaign in the country. He was a guest of a 
young man and his wife whose bri light two-year-old 
boy quickly captured his interest. Caleb and the 
father had been talking about trust and faith, and the 
young man said, “I’ll show you what it is.” Calling 


134 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


his baby boy to him, he placed him upon the table, and 
stepping back a couple of paces, he said, “Now son, 
jump, and daddy will catch you.” 

The little chap never paused to look down, never 
hesitated, but with a happy little cry launched him- 
self out into space — to be enfolded in his father’s 
arms. 

As the scene again came before Caleb, he gave a 
deep breath, and as he arose, exclaiming, “Father, I 
trust you ! I come” — he seemed to consciously let go of 
all things — when lo ! beneath him were the Everlasting 
Arms. 

The first conscious sensation of the man was that of 
a living quietness; a peace that had in it the profun- 
dity of the infinite. Then there was a sense of clean- 
ness as though his very soul had been washed. He felt 
that he could stand at the bar of God and challenge 
the angels to look through and through him. Then, 
as the light of the new day began to stream through 
the window, waves of glory broke over his soul. He 
shouted, he leaped, he wept, he hugged old Uncle Zeke 
in the fulness of his ecstacy. 

Now, like Abraham, he could go out not knowing 
Avhither, for the Spirit of the living God had come 
in and taken up His abode in the cleansed citadel of 
the Anakims. 


CHAPTEE XIV 


PERFECT LOVE 

know what am de mattah wid yo’, Mars Calip,” 
said the grinning old darkey, as he was released. ‘‘Yo’ 
jist got de ol’ time ’ligion. I knows dat kin’. Hm! 
Yass’r. Don’ see much ob hit now days, ’scusin’ what 
dey all hab up at de ol’ wa’house. 01’ Miss ’Ginnie 
— dat Miss Xellie ’s grandma — she call hit Pawfick 
Love. Miss Xellie favor 01’ Miss, pow’ful; she sho’ 
do.” 

“That’s it; Uncle Zeke, that expresses it exactly. 
Perfect love. It seems like I love everybody on earth 
this morning,” said Caleb. 

Before that day should close he would have that 
perfected love put to its testing. 

Eeluctantly yielding to the old negro’s insistence 
that he should “git down onto de baid an’ tek er cou- 
ple er winks, whiles I looks arter li’l Mars Do’man, an’ 
reds up de house,” Caleb dropped at once into a pro- 
found sleep which lasted well into the morning. He 
had just finished the hot rolls, poached eggs and bacon, 
that the faithful black hands had prepared, when Het- 
tie Porterfield was seen approaching the house. Ca- 
leb’s cheery welcome was met with a sober “howdy” 
from the girl, who at once stated her errand. 

135 


ms 


Caleb of the Hill Countky 


•‘Mister Caleb, Mister Bud Slavin, where IVe been 
staying, is mighty bad sick. He was struck dead 
[meaning lost consciousness] yesterday evening just 
after dinner, and he’s been right wild since. Every- 
body’s skeered now of the spotted fever, and Miss Dol- 
lie needs help and cain’t find none. I know hoAv you- 
all help folks, so I thought TVl come and see if you 
wouldn’t get some one.” 

Eeceiving his promise to get nurses, the girl re- 
turned, and Caleb started for Crockett City, bearing 
with him a letter to Lawyer Worley which stated that 
he had decided to not oppose Dorman’s suit against 
him, but surrender his home without contest. 

Hetty’s report of the fright of the people over the 
scourge which was then coming upon the community, 
had not been overstated, as Caleb found when he came 
to the town. Beginning with the death of the poor 
camper’s wife, the fatal fever spread. Business finally 
came to a standstill; the railway trains passed on 
through the town without stopping, or at best, just 
slowing up to toss off needed supplies; not taking on 
any passengers. The fresh-made mounds in the hill- 
side graveyard multiplied, and in few of the homes 
was there not mourning for some departed occupant, 
or near kin, or some dear friend. 

Usually the course of the disease was short : The 
premonitory chill; the fever, with pains in the back 
and neck; then the fearful contortions of agony as 
the spine twisted and bent, drawing the head of the 
victim backward until sometimes the body would be 


Perfect Love 


187 


curved almost into a bow. Mercifully, unconsciousness 
usually came with the fever, but the writhing of the 
suffering body was torture itself to the watchers unable 
to afford relief. Few were there who recovered from 
the attack, and among those who escaped death some 
were left to go through life crippled in body or mind, 
or both. 

As Caleb essayed to secure help for the stricken 
saloon keeper, he was met with one excuse and another, 
but all answered with a face of fear. Finally, one had 
the boldness to say, “Why don’t you go? Afraid your- 
self?” 

Why not, indeed ? True, Slavin had been his bitter 
enemy, but the Master had said, “Love your enemy.” 
In a flash there came to him a revelation of his own 
cleansed heart ; where there had been revenge, there was 
now love — perfect love — for the man who had wronged 
him and despoiled the people. Turning upon his heel, 
Caleb made his way to Slavin’s. Nellie was needed by 
her sick mother, but Uncle Zeke could be trusted to 
take perfect care of the babe. He would, with his own 
hand, take the “cup of cold water” to his old-time 
enemy. 

Mrs. Slavin was among those reached by the meet- 
ings in the old hall, and had given herself to Christ, so 
that she was not greatly surprised to see Caleb as he 
came to proffer his help. “I did not send Hettie to 
have you come. Brother Wainwright,” she said, “I 
could not, after all the wrong that has been done you, 
but I knew that you were a Christian, and if you 


138 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


could, would get us help. None of Bud’s friends would 
come when I sent to them, and it is so terrible to see 
him suffer so — and to know that he is not ready to 
meet God.” The poor woman broke down weeping. 

It was well that Caleb had been persuaded by the 
old negro to take his hour of rest that morning, for the 
day and the night passed, and the second day came to 
its close, yet he could not leave the groaning, writhing 
form upon the bed. Then, with a staring look in the 
unseeing eyes, and black lips drawn back from the 
bared teeth the body of the sufferer was gripped in a 
fearful convulsion, the soul of Bud Slavin seemed 
to be wrenched free, and was gone into the presence of 
his Maker. 

Released from his vigil, Caleb slipped away from 
the house and made arrangements for the burial of the 
body that night, as was necessary. Then staggering 
out to the home that was soon to be his no more, he fell 
into a stupor-like sleep. Three times during the fol- 
lowing long hours the old negro came, and arous- 
ing the sleeper, though not to full consciousness, forced 
him to drink a bowl of hot broth. Then, as the shades 
of the second night were falling, his senses cleared, and 
he sat up wide awake. In another room a soft voice 
was heard sobbing, ^‘Baby, baby! Mother’s precious 
boy.” 

Caleb sprang up, and I:: a moment mother and babe 
were clasped in the man’s strong arms. It was Nellie 
who first spoke, looking up through her tears : ‘T have 
heard all, my husband, and I praise God that I am 


Perfect Love 


139 


your wife. But Caleb, now — now — I am — Mother’s 
gone, and I’m afraid Father’s taking down — and I am 
alone. I have come for you — he does not know — will 
you go?” 

“My precious wife, where your place is, is my place 
too. The night you left home to nurse Mother Dor- 
man, God took all the old hatred, all the revenge, all 
the bitterness out of my heart, and filled it with per- 
fect love. Let us go to the poor, stricken man and 
help him all we can.” 

So they went out to give, possibly, their lives to 
relieve the suffering of the one who had put forth his 
hand to rob them of all their earthly possessions. 

They found Kube Dorman delirious, crying at one 
time, “It’s dark, so dark! dark — dark!” and again, 
“I’m burning up inside! Get me ice!” It was with 
much difficulty that Caleb was able to secure a bit of 
ice, for even the necessary food for the people was be- 
coming scarce, but a small supply was found. This, 
broken in pieces and put to the lips of the sick man, he 
would eagerly seize upon, and crunching it with his 
teeth would cry, “More, more! Give me more!” 

Day slipped into night, and long nights succeeded 
days which seemed an eternity for the two watchers 
who battled for the life of the stricken man. And he 
lived. 

The scourge passed ; business was again resumed in 
Crockett City, and the world went on; for the world 
stops not for bleeding hearts and cold hearthstones. 
Kube Dorman lived; but could he have known himself 


140 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


as he came back, he would have scorned the life which 
stretched out before him, and have taken as his choice 
a place in the grave by the side of Bud Slavin. In- 
stead of the broad-shouldered, aggressive man of af- 
fairs, crowding aside all who came in between him and 
his ambition for wealth, the people of Crockett City 
saw, at finst, a twisted, staring form huddled down 
in a big wheel chair, attended by an old negro. Later, 
as physical strength returned, the sunny days would 
see the shadow of Bube Dorman seated upon the banks 
of Big Sandy, with a stick for pole, string for line, 
and bent pin for hook, idly fishing. Occasionally the 
pole would be lifted, and a thin, querulous voice call 
out, “Unc’ Zeke, come here and fix my hook. These 
little shiners have nibbled the bait all off.” Then the 
old negro would chuckle, “Sho’ nuff dey is, Mars 
Kubin,” as he transfixed another worm with the pin, 
“Keckin yo’ fergit ter spit on de bait dat time.” Rube 
Dorman had gone back to travel the balance of his 
earthly journey in the days of his boyhood, and the 
old negro whom he had turned from his door, had re- 
sumed his place as guardian angel. 

Caleb and Nellie Wainwright found a home with 
Old Man Mason. Before Dorman was up from his 
bed there had come to Crockett City an officer of the 
law, who took charge, in the name of a receiver, of all 
property that stood in the merchant’s name. It was 
shown that his deals in cotton futures, while generally 
fortunate, had been disastrous at the beginning of his 
sickness. While he might have saved himself, had he 


Perfect Love 


141 


retained health and mind, the crash that came was a 
complete wreckage of the life work of the man. The 
mortgage and unreceipted notes of Caleb, carried his 
home into the assets of the receiver. Even the home- 
stead of Dorman, exempted by law from debts, was 
found to have against it a trust deed, with the signa- 
ture of Mother Dorman, probably forged. Everything 
was swept away that had been the life of the big mer- 
chant — all except a shambling body that fished on the 
banks of Big Sandy with an old negro. 

When the truth became known. Old Man Mason 
had come to Wainwright with the proposal that they 
all move down to his farm, and the arguments present- 
ed made the acceptance by Caleb wholly a favor to 
Mason. “I am an old man,” said he, “without kith or 
kin. I can not tell when the Master will send for me ; 
but I feel that the time is not far away. I’ll want some 
one with me then ; but more, I need some one to show 
me how to live right the rest of my time. Miss Nellie, 
if you cared enough to come to an old, drunken repro- 
bate gambler and blasphemer, and take him by the 
hand and lead him to Christ, it seems like you could 
care enough to hel^D him on the short piece he has yet 
to travel on the way.” 

To those of the wider world who had expected from 
Caleb Wainwright a work and a name which should 
be written down in the book called Fame, it appeared 
that the man had confessed himself a failure at every 
point. But the strange way of the allwise God is to 
bring to naught that which is, that He may use the 


142 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


nothing of man to the overthrow of the mightiest 
forces of evil, to His own glory. It was thus with 
Moses, as he fled before the face of Pharaoh, and hid 
himself in the desert; it was thus with Saul on the 
road to Damascus; it was thus with Lincoln, defeated 
by Douglass for the Senate; and it was thus with 
Caleb Wainwright that God was dealing. He would 
strip him of all his own strength and power, that he 
might know and rely upon the omnipotence of God 
Himself. 

Happiness again came to the little family. Caleb’s 
days were filled with toil in the large market garden 
which had been planted in the early spring, and which 
was now in full harvest. The time of the long summer 
drouth was approaching, and as Caleb pondered, the 
thought came to him that if only some way could be 
found to get water to the land, there would be time 
enough for a second crop — perhaps of the Bermuda 
onions, then beginning to be demanded b}^ the markets. 

Talking over the matter with Old Man Mason, the 
latter sat for a time meditating, and then exclaimed, 
“Caleb, I’ve an idea. Come along, and I’ll show it 
to you.” 

Across the farm they went until they came to the 
great gash in the bluff where the old still had been. 
The canyon, as we know, was narrow at the mouth and 
for several rods back, but beyond it widened out into a 
hill-enclosed valley, deep, and of an hundred or more 
acres in extent. 

“What do you think of that for a storage lake for 


Perfect Love 


143 


storm water, son?” asked the old man. “The stone 
is already on the ground to fill in that gap back far 
enough and high enough to hold a hundred-foot head 
of water — enough to irrigate a whole valley of Ber- 
muda onions.” 

The feasibility of the scheme at once struck Caleb 
with force — in that hill basin and others like it, lay 
possibilities of untold wealth to the lower-lying lands. 
Two things, however, stood in the way of their use of 
this basin back of the canyon : the mouth of the canyon 
was upon the land owned by Bud Slavin, and the es- 
tate of Slavin would also take in the farm of Mason, 
after a few more payments upon the contract so evilly 
entered into between the saloon keeper and the drunk- 
en gambler. 

The obstacles were in the minds of both men as 
they stood for a few moments in silence; then Mason 
spoke up : “I reckon all this will go to Dollie Slavin 
and her little girls some day, but she might be willing 
for us to make use of it for the time it belongs to us, 
and let us show other folks how to do it for themselves. 
I’ll go see her about it.” 

“Mister Mason,” said the little widow, as the old 
man stated the nature of his errand, “I have been wish- 
ing for a talk with you for some time. I have had a 
great burden upon my heart ever since Bud died, and 
I think that you of all men will be able to help me to 
make it lighter. I don’t know — I never can know, all 
the evil that has been wrought by the business my hus- 
band was in,” said the poor woman weeping, “but so far 


144 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


as I am able, I want to make amends. The saloon is 
closed, as you know, and will never be opened again. 
I had a talk with Mister Satterwhite yesterday, and he 
told me that he would not renew his license, and would 
close his place. Now I ask as a favor that you and 
Brother Wainwright go up to the saloon, take all the 
liquor in the place out into the street, knock in the 
heads of the barrels, break the bottles, and then set 
the whole on fire. I can’t bear the thought of any more 
children being robbed, or left fatherless, or of other 
husbands and fathers going out into darkness without 
hope because of that fearful stuff. 

“Then there is another thing: You know that the 
old Mallory place was mine before my marriage — 
came to me from my grandfather — that will be ample 
to support me and my little girls. I can never touch 
a dollar of the wealth my husband left me, that came 
from the suffering of other children and other mothers’ 
tears. I want you to quietly hunt up families that 
have been hurt by the saloon, and in a wise way, as 
I know you will, give them my aid. Then, when we 
have done all we can that way, I want the balance to 
go to establishing this new work of God in Crockett 
City. 

“As the matter af the agreement between you and 
Bud concerning your farm ; the thing was conceived in 
evil, and has been carried out so far in wickedness. I 
refuse to carry it further, and voluntarily break the 
contract and set you free from its provisions.” 



A shambling body that tished on the banks of I^ig 8audy with 
an old Negro. [Page 141] 



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Perfect Love 


145 


‘‘But, Mrs. Slavin, Bud has already paid me more 
than a thousand dollars in money on it.” 

dear Mister Mason, my husband’s liquor has 
done you more harm than could be estimated in any 
number of thousands of dollars. You may have the 
land at the mouth of the canyon surveyed, with forty 
acres of the level valley of the ranch below,, and I will 
make a deed of it to Brother Wainwright, as a par- 
tial reparation for the harm that has come to him 
through the liquor business. God bless you. Father 
Mason. I feel that I can be sure of your help in my 
plans.” 

The old man had been sitting with open mouth 
as the significance of all this came over him; what it 
would mean to him ; mean to Caleb ; to the poor people 
of the hill country; and to the cause of holiness; and 
the first words he could find were. 

“Well, ain’t God a great God!” 


CHAPTEK XV 


A CITY SET UPON A HILL 

That law which causes like to seek like — the at- 
traction of affinities — has obtained ever since the morn- 
ing stars sang together. Harmony is fundamental in 
strength as well as in beauty; it is a prerequisite of 
life and development. We say that men agree to come 
together and unite in an organization for certain pur- 
poses. A truer conception is that they find themselves 
in whatever organization it may be, because the pur- 
pose of organization was already in them: they were 
united, and the organization is the natural, necessary 
expression of that unity. 

The most pitiable failure is a mechanical union, 
even that of effort, which is lacking in unity of heart 
and spirit. 

In the spiritual as well as in the natural realm this 
law exhibits both a positive and negative force: if not 
only draws together the like, but severs the unlike. 
There were these two aspects of the law working at 
the birth of the Church, in the time of the coming of 
the Holy Ghost: the hundred and twenty were all to- 
gether in one place because they were of one accord, 
but also because there Avas no other place for them to 
go. That which had come to their lives as a living 
146 


A City Set Upon a Hill 


147 


hope, was a force which also severed them from other 
Jews. The new Church came into existence, not be- 
cause a small body of men decided to form a new 
ecclesiasticism, but because they each had become pos- 
sessed of a principle which, despised and rejected by 
the world, forced the possessors out from among the 
world, into a living unity of themselves. 

The Master, knowing the futility of union in name 
without unity of life and purpose, prayed, in the hour 
of His agony, in the shadow of the cross, that His fol- 
lowers might be made one, even as He and the Father 
were one, and lest future generations should fail to 
understand. He stated the process by which that unity 
must come — through sanctification, holiness, the bap- 
tism with the Holy Ghost. 

Let me restate this thought : Upon the authority of 
Jesus Christ, the only basis of Christian unity is 
through the baptism with the Holy Ghost in entire 
sanctification, producing holiness. 

Nothing was farther from the thought of the wor- 
shippers at the old hall in Crockett City, than the 
starting of a new denomination. The prayer of Jesus 
for His disciples, and for all who should believe on 
their words, having been answered in the coming of 
the “Promise of the Father,” each had departed quick- 
ly, with joy and gladness, unto his own company, as a 
bearer of blessing. There was no doubting that their 
testimony would be received by pastor and church. 
Astonishment was followed by grief as their love made 
perfect strove in vain to open blinded eyes and soften 


148 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


hardened hearts that the reality of the gospel of Jesus 
in its effective cleansing and empowering baptism 
might be known. 

It was not long, however, before these sanctified 
people discovered that the new life-principle, the in- 
dwelling Holy Spirit whom they had received, had of 
itself separated them unto themselves, as truly as the 
hundred and twenty were separated unto themselves 
in the upper room. At Crockett City they were, as we 
have seen, excommunicated, expelled, and excluded 
from fellowship in the churches. At other places, 
where formal action was not taken, the spiritual cleav- 
age was none the less marked and effective. 

The Spirit of Jesus and the spirit of the world can 
not mix. The carnal mind is enmity against the Holy 
Ghost. These people found that it is as impossible 
for men filled with the Holy Spirit to walk in unity 
and fellowship with a holiness- fighting. Spirit-reject- 
ing church, as for Christ to walk in harmony with 
Satan. For a holiness man to remain at one with an 
unsanctified church, one of two things was certain: 
either the church would receive his testimony and seek 
his blessing, or else his holiness would be but a mean- 
ingless term, and he have no testimony in word and 
life which would offend the world spirit. 

So it was from a divine law working within, and 
also upon them from without — and that without their 
intent or the plan of men — that those who had received 
the cleansing baptism, and become Christians in the 
Bible sense, at the meetings held by the Kentucky 


A City Set Upon a Hill 


149 


evangelist, found themselves, leaderless though they 
were, and without ecclesiastical sanction, a united body 
of believers — a New Testament church — the Church at 
Crockett City. In them was the prayer of Jesus an- 
swered : they were one in the Holy Ghost. 

Who is he that dare raise his voice against these 
one hundred and twenty of the latter days? Who, in 
the fear of, or in mistaken loyalty to, any ecclesiasti- 
cism shall think to nullify a universal law that is 
calling like to like? shall endeavor to force a union 
where there is no unity? shall oppose himself to the 
prayer of Jesus, that those whom His blood should 
sanctify might be one — even to the extent of the one- 
ness which was with the Father and the Son? 

While the natural leaders of the new movement 
in Crockett City, George Farris and Caleb Wain- 
wright, continued to direct the activities of the new 
body, yet neither had upon him that divine call which 
marks the God-chosen preacher. Endeavoring at first, 
as we have seen, to so arrange their services that they 
should not conflict with those of the churches, it was 
not long before the conviction was forced upon them 
in the development of the work that God had entrusted 
to these despised outcasts Flis real work of salvation 
in the hill country. With this realization came a sense 
of freedom from the churches — not in any sense an an- 
tagonism, but a loosening from the bondage of depend- 
ance — to see Jesus only, and to walk with Him as He 
should lead. 

Beginning with the giving of a simple testimony 


150 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


to the saving grace of God, several young men and 
girls advanced to proficiency in exhortation, and then, 
becoming conscious of the call of the Spirit to sep- 
arate their lives unto Him in service, they began to 
search the Word, the Spirit Himself leading and 
illuminating. 

Thus, there went forth out over the hill country, to 
hold meetings in schoolhouses, arbors, tents, or on the 
streets, a score or more of young preachers of holiness. 
It is true they went without the laying on of hands 
by bishop, presbytery, or assembly; it is true that for 
the greater part they were sadly lacking in the knowl- 
edge which comes from books; it is true that their 
sermons were rudely constructed — ^but it is also true 
that they took with them a clear-cut testimony of a 
definite spiritual experience. They knew Jesus, and 
His power to save from sin. Then, they had that with- 
out which all preaching is as chaff thrown against the 
wind — their words had the unction of the Holy Ghost ; 
winged and barbed, and flying to the mark, they pene- 
trated and stuck. 

The whole hill country was covered by these bands, 
and religion in that region took on a new meaning. 
Even those preachers and churches that rejected the 
doctrine and experience of holiness, now raised their 
standard of Christian living. It was a notable occasion 
when one of the country churches turned out a hus- 
band for drunkenness at Christmas time, on the same 
day that it expelled the wife for professing the ex- 
perience of a clean heart. Before the advent of the 


A City Set Upon a Hill 


151 


preaching of holiness such an offense as that of the 
husband during the celebration of our Lord’s natal 
day would have scarcely called forth comment, much 
less rebuke or punishment. 

As the entrance of the Word brings light, and light 
carries responsibility, forcing decisions, it was true 
that many communities were shaken in the throes of a 
spiritual earthquake. The prophecy of Jesus of the 
dividing sword came to pass. A man’s foes were those 
of his own household. Churches were rent in tw^ain: 
families were divided; friendships of a lifetime were 
broken. Yet, out from it all arose a truer expression 
•of Christianity, with happier homes, a better citizen- 
ship, a higher civilization. 

God is a God of order ; this His universe proclaims. 
Not only does He give the law, even the law of holi- 
ness, but He provides against a haphazard indefinite 
administration of law. Although the band at the old 
hall came together without the plan of man, yet it 
was inevitable in the plan of God that they should 
come into an orderly organization, with adequate lead- 
ership. In His own time and manner God picks His 
leaders. Happy is that one and happy the people rec- 
ognizing His appointments. 

Passing through Crockett City from one of his 
monthly ministrations, John Mansfield, the Cumber- 
land pastor, came into a service at the old hall to “see 
how the holiness act.” Prejudiced though he was by 
what he had heard of their actions and teaching, yet 
this Presbyterian preacher was a man with a vital 


152 


Caleb of the Hill Countby 


knowledge of Christ in the forgiveness of his sins, and 
had no soul-fettering theology to break through. As 
he saw the freedom and the holy joy in the service, and 
listened to the testimonies and presentation of the 
Scriptures, his honest heart recognized and gave as- 
sent to the truth, and cried out for the experience and 
life of the Holy Ghost baptism. 

John Mansfield, in the courage of the knowledge of 
need, went to the despised mourner’s bench: John 
Mansfield, a professed Christian and pastor of a 
church ! There is no death so near to crucifixion as 
that of a preacher dying out to his church. Thus, as 
the consciousness of the meaning of his choice cairfe 
upon him, the preacher stretched his full length upon 
the floor, in his Gethsemane — a strong man in his death 
struggle — crying, “Oh, my church ! my church. Oh, 
my church ! ” 

At two o’clock in the morning the workers saw the 
struggling cease. A light of glory came into the 
face of the one who had prevailed with God, and hence- 
forth was to be a prince among men. Thus the Lord 
gave to the holiness band its pastor. 

The experience which the Kentucky evangelist 
proclaimed to the hill country, and which the people 
in the old hall entered into, was not some fantastic 
trick of the imagination; not the effect of abnormal 
emotion. It was the restoration of the human soul to 
its natural element ; a removal of the hindrances of sin, 
so that the heart could have its normal expression in 
perfect love. This restoration to the freedom of a life 


A City Set Upon a Hill 15P> 

in Christ Jesus easily found expression through the 
daily activities of the people. 

It is an axiom of the world that the lodge surpasses 
the church in the matter of practical benevolences; and 
to a superficial view this may seem to be true. But in 
Crockett City it was now shown that when the Spirit 
of Jesus has full control, the church is the natural and 
efficient agency for the relief of suffering; the only 
channel through which can flow real love and sympa- 
thy. As in the early church, so now in Crockett City, 
each held himself to be God’s steward for the care of 
his brother. The poor were assisted, the suffering were 
ministered unto, and the lowest of the outcasts found a 
hand reached out to help them up. 

In perhaps no'other way was this restoration of the 
Spirit of Christ to the church more strikingly shown 
than in its attitude towards that utterly hopeless class 
which we call “fallen women.” Notwithstanding the 
prophesies of the wise, and shrugging shoulders of the 
nice people, the holiness folks bearing to these aban- 
doned creatures a message of hope, proved to a gain- 
saying world and a doubting church that the blood of 
Jesus Christ cleanses from all sin. 

The moral effect of the holiness meetings upon the 
community was no less marked than it was upon hu- 
manitarian lines. A revolution was soon brought 
about as to the manner of Sabbath observance. From 
being a day of carousal and rough sports, it became a 
day in which at least outward respect was shown for 
its sacredness. Another moral influence of the new 


154 


Caleb of the Hill Countky 


movement came to be admitted as it was found that, 
to a man, the holiness people were* against the liquor 
traffic. It is a matter of local history that when finally 
the saloons were driven from the hill country, the lead- 
er of the liquor forces cursed the holiness people as the 
cause of his overthrow. 

Not only on humanitarian and moral lines was the 
force of the new church felt in Crockett City, and in 
the hill country, but in civil matters also. The cleans- 
ing of the heart from sin prepares for good citizenship. 
As a people they threw their influence for clean towns 
and communities; for good government; for good 
streets as well as pleasant home surroundings. They 
were believers in and supporters of schools with com- 
petent teachers. In a word, whatever might be used 
to help men to live clean, wholesome, full lives, and 
thus to re-present to the world the ideal for men which 
God set before them in J esus Christ, to that the people 
of the old hall gave all their purpose and activit5^ 


CHAPTER XVI 


LIGHT AT THE CROSSING 

To Caleb Wainwright there came such a fulness of 
service as even his active life had never known. Old 
Man Mason, released from his contract in regard to 
the farm, and busy as the dispenser of restitution for 
the wealth left by the saloon keeper, declared that he 
had now retired from active work, and demanded that 
Caleb take full charge of the planting of orchards on 
the hillsides, and arranging the irrigating plant for the 
vast valley gardens which the stored-up waters back of 
the gulch dam were to keep green all the summer 
through. 

The twelve hundred dollars which Slavin had paid 
the old man on his contract, had been deposited, two 
hundred dollars each year, in the county-seat bank, and 
now that Mrs. Slavin had refused to accept its return. 
Mason decided to use it in the erection of a church 
building for Crockett City. 

“It’s going to be a church,” declared he, “where the 
gospel that does something for a fellow is preached. 
A religion that don’t make a fellow any different from 
what he was before, is a sham; and Crockett City is 
going to have the real thing.” 

With his own hands he quarried from his hillsides 
155 


156 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


the creamy-colored sandstone, and with his own teams 
hanled the great blocks to the lot selected for the new 
church. Here, the masons and the carpenters, paid by 
his own money (for Old Man Mason himself had some 
restitutions to make to those who had passed beyond 
his reach), and generous gifts from Mrs. Slavin, built 
a house where men would be shown how to become 
Bible Christians. 

The passing of the saloon in Crockett City gave the 
temperance forces a great leverage in the next county 
election. ^Vhen again the petition was presented, the 
signatures were correctly counted, the prohibition elec- 
tion ordered, and the hill country forever freed from 
the curse of the saloon, that fiercest of Anakims whose 
life demands the yielded strength of men, the break- 
ing hearts of women, and the tears of childhood. 

Sacredly did Old Man Mason carry out the purpose 
of Mrs. Slavin to bring a blessing to those families 
upon whom the business of her husband had fallen 
Avith its curse. Men were helped to establish their oavii 
little fruit farms; widows were freed from Avant; but 
most of all was the fund expended to lift up the child- 
hood of the hill country, so sorely handicapped and 
stricken and robbed by the liquor traffic. To the youth 
Old Man Mason, the once terror of the hill country, be- 
came the best loved in all the land. His heart and 
hand Avere ever open to the boy or girl Avho was strug- 
gling through difficulties up into a Avider, fuller life. 

Indeed, upon him Avas unconsciously pronounced 
the highest encomium that could be giA^en mortal man. 


Light at the Crossing 


157 


It was in the school that George Farris (for the teacher 
was soon reinstated in his position) had been telling 
the story of the One who went about doing good — the 
Man of Love — of Him who had taken the little chil- 
dren up into His arms and blessed them. As he closed, 
the teacher asked, “Now, children, how many of you 
can tell me the name of the One of whom we have 
been speaking?” 

The vigorously waving hand of a new boy was 
given attention by the teacher : “Well, Davy, you may 
tell.” 

“Teacher,” the lad shouted, “I know him — it’s Old 
Man Mason.” 

A volume might be written of the transformation 
which came to Crockett City through the slajdng of 
the giants of the hill country ; how the class of cotton- 
slave tenants nearly disappeared in a multitude of 
small- farm owners; how comfortable, tidy homes re- 
placed the two-pens-and-a-passage cabins; how sober 
husbands and sons not only brought happiness to wives 
and daughters, but made possible a new generation of 
greater physical vigor, better mental capacity, and 
clearer conception of the relation of man to God and 
his fellow. 

It would be a task of pleasure to draw in detail the 
contrast between the shack days of Crockett City with 
its saloon and sandy street, and the Crockett City of 
factories, rows of brick business houses and paved 
streets — between the days of its apathy of despair and 
its day of self-respect and courageous setting of itself 


158 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


to the problem of the age — but may we not write this 
now. 

We would delight in following George Farris in his 
little school until the school became an academy, and 
the academy a college, from which, as the years came, 
scores of the youth of the hill countrj^ went forth to 
occupy high positions in this land, and others, crossing 
the seas, carried the gospel of a living Christ to be 
reproduced in men. This might be done, for it is his- 
tory. 

It would be pleasing to the reader, no doubt, could 
w^e give here the story of how a new printing office 
eventually arose from the ashes of the Crockett City 
Enter and grew into a great publishing house, 
which filled the hill country with clean, wholesome 
literature, thus wielding a mighty influence for true 
manhood and womanhood. 

A volume might be filled with a record of the bat- 
tles and victories of the little band of worshippers in 
the old hall, even before they moved into the new 
stone church — how the enemy beset their untried way, 
and sifted them as wheat, discouraging the faint- 
hearted, blasting some in the heat of fanaticism — ^but 
how those in whom dwelt the spirit of perfect love 
became rooted and grounded, and did exploits for their 
King. Perhaps some day these New Acts of the Apos- 
tles will be read, as they have been written — above. 

Honors came to Caleb Wainwright — honors and 
fame and blessing of earthh^ store. The procession 
which he saw departing from his life in the hour of his 


Light at the Crossing 


159 


full surrender to the will of God, came back, bringing 
each its gift increased an hundredfold — for such is the 
way of our God with the one who gives his all to Him. 

Caleb and Nellie, with their little family, had made 
their home with Old Man Mason for the second year, 
when, upon Nellie’s birthday she found at the side of 
her plate, at the morning meal, a deed to the old hill- 
side farm and orchard, a gift from their friend and 
protector. 

“I couldn’t bear to think that you had been robbed 
of anything, honey, specially your first little home with 
Caleb, and where this young rascal first saw the light,” 
patting the chubby hand of young Dorman. “So I 
just bought the place the other day. But, Nellie, now I 
find it harder than I thought — I can’t spare you all 
yet. Stay by the old man a little longer, won’t you? 
Not for long, not for long.” 

Springing from her seat the young wife clasped her 
arms about the bowed, white head, while her soft kiss 
fell upon the furrowed cheek. “Leave .you. Father Ma- 
son! How could you think of such a thing? You’ll 
have to turn us out of the house to get rid of us. Our 
home is where you are.” 

In truth, it became evident, as the summer neared 
its close, that it was not for long, not for long, in this 
world, for the old man. Slowly his pony carried him 
about over the hillside orchards, and down into the 
vast valley gardens under irrigation, bearing their rich 
yield of two and three crops each season. SloAvly he 
walked and talked with Caleb of the past and future 


160 


Caleb of the Hili. Country 


of the hill country. ‘‘You see, son,” said he, “how 
God had this land here worth a thousand dollars an 
acre all the while, and we thought ten dollars would 
be a top price. It’s that way with the hill folks — they’re 
worth the bringing out of what God has in ’em, boy. 
And I’ve fixed it so you’ll have a chance to show ’em 
— just like you’ve made this land show what God want- 
ed it to do. Yes, you’ll do it, boy; you’ll do it.” 

It was an evening when the gum trees were be- 
ginning to splotch the hillsides here and there with 
red ; Caleb had been away for a couple of days on busi- 
ness, and the family were sitting on the gallery, in the 
twilight, looking down the big road for a glimpse of 
his return. About them the soft, fragrant, creamy air 
folded itself like a robe of blessing from the glory 
world. Down the path toward the spring, where a 
mocking bird was beginning its night song, shuffled 
and tottered, hand in hand, the form of Rube Dorman 
and the babe, with the chuckling old negro close be- 
hind. 

“Two children,” spoke up the old man, as his eyes 
followed the pair. “Life is a mighty strange thing 
after all. I reckon we’ll understand it some day; be- 
fore long, maybe. Nellie, I’ve wanted to tell you some- 
thing of my life; do you care to listen?” 

“Father Mason,” replied the girl, as the bright tears 
stood in her eyes. “I’ve been waiting a long time for 
you to open that closed door to my sympathy. Do you 
know that night when I went to you in the old hall, you 
looked frightened, and called me Agnes — ” 


Light at the Crossing 


161 


‘‘Yes, yes, I know — my young wife. I thought for 
the moment she had come back. It was the honey- 
suckle in your hair — like she wore the day of her 
marriage; and you looked like her. She was a hum- 
ble Christian, and I was stubborn. Often would she 
plead with me to give my heart to God, but I was 
young and strong, and wanted my own way. She 
would Avarn me that God would bring sorrow upon me, 
to break my stubborn heart, but I laughed at her. 

“Then she fell sick. I prayed then, and demanded 
that God spare her to me, but I would not give myself 
to Him. Then, with a tender prayer on her lips for 
me, God took my precious Agnes to Himself. As with 
Pharaoh of the Bible, my affliction seemed to make my 
heart grow harder, and I rose up and cursed God. I 
voAved that I neA^er again Avould put foot in a church, 
and would do all the harm to God’s servants that I 
could. 

“Ah, my life, iua^ misspent life ! Hoav patient God 
is; how tender; hoAv forgiving! To think there was a 
possibility of salvation for such as I!” Tears were run- 
ning down the furrowed old face, but the eyes were 
lifted to the heaA^ens — and beyond. “To think that all 
the past has been blotted out, and my soul 
Avashed white in His blood! How great is the grace 
of my Savior. And I shall see Him, and be like Him ! 

“Do you know, Nellie, that I feel Agnes A^ery near 
me tonight? It seems as if I could almost put out my 
hand and touch hers.” 

In the night the doctor came ; he said, “The old man 


1G2 


Caleb of the Hill Country 


will leave us at midnight, or a little later.” But the 
watchers, holding the toil-scarred hands, saw the dark- 
ness disappear into the grey of dawn before the cross- 
ing was reached. 

Opening his eyes the old man whispered, “Sing it, 
Nellie, sing your song — Valle^^ — shadows.” 

The young wife began tremulously, but the message 
filled and strengthened her voice as she proceeded : 

To the Valley of the Shadows we have come w'here Jesus trod, 
Come with loved ones as their journey nears the home pre- 
pared of God, 

But the mist from off -the river, blinds us as we come to part, 
And the shadows, gathering darkly, cast their chill upon the 
heart. 

Shadows dark, but only shadows, death itself we shall not 
see. 

For our Savior in this valley conquered death and set us free. 
Shadows, yet no evil nigh us; gone the terror, sting and fear, 
Lo, His rod and staff uphold us, Peace, oh heart, the Lord is 
near. 

Through the Valley of the Shadows pause we at the water’s 
brink. 

And love’s chain that fain w^ould hold them, falls apart with 
broken link. 

But, behold! the veil is lifting; beams a city wondrous fair. 
And we catch the strain immortal from our loved ones wel- 
comed there. 

Drear the valley and its shadows, yet we are not left alone. 
For the Comforter abiding makes the Father’s love be knowm. 
And from out the darkness ’round us points us to the coming 
day. 

When, with ransomed hosts returning, Christ shall wipe all 
tearB away. 

As Nellie finished singing, a shaft of light from 
the rising sun flashed out upon the tops of the distant 


Light at the Crossing 


163 


hills; and in the wondrous autumn beauty there re- 
vealed it seemed as though now indeed the prophecy, 
had been fulfilled in a new heaven and a new earth. 
The glow came in at the window where the old -man 
lay, and he turned his eyes to the glory of the hills. 
As he looked, joy unutterable shone from his face and 
rang in his voice : “See ! the morning's come. Oh, the 
glory! Agnes! Jesus!” 

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall God. 

For their rest shall be glorious. 








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